


Mother Dearest: SWANFIRE ENCHANTED FOREST AU

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Aweomeness, Betrayal, Deals With The Devil, Gen, Girl Power, Lies, Magic, Pirates, Politics, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was originally a story commissioned to me by one of my CS friends. But alas! I tried to write a beautiful love story, and it just kept writing itself as Swanfire! That, combined with my utter loathing of CS (no offense) and some rather nasty CSers, pushed me to take it down and now, repost the story as it was meant to be: with the epic love that is Swanfire.<br/>Murderous, ambitious, and vengeance-thirsty, Regina has taken Queen Snow and King David's infant daughter, and raised her as her own. In a world where women are oppressed and magic feared,  Emma has been taught that love is weakness and power is everything.  But when Baelfire, a crooked-smiled pirate, is captured after raiding one of Regina's ships, he may threaten her convictions...He may change her entire future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Regina glanced up as the great wooden doors burst open and a man flanked by two of her Black Knights strode in. “You better have some good news for me, Huntsman,” she said, reaching for the jewel-encrusted box beside her. The Huntsman was her most difficult, resistant servant—he often needed some “outside encouragement” to behave himself. 

He inhaled sharply as she pulled out the object inside: she held his red heart in her delicate fingers, tracing her thumb over the dark smudges. He glared at it, his fists clenching at his sides.

“I have news of Snow White,” he said, his words marred from his thick, rustic accent. “Her child has been born. A girl.”

Regina sat up, fury and elation rising in her chest. “A child,” she breathed. 

Snow White had a child. That stupid, insipid, insufferable little brat had a _child._ It was like the universe was mocking her: every attempt Regina made on her life backfired, making the people love her more and more until she had gathered enough loyal followers to drive Regina out of the kingdom. And now, Snow was living the life of luxury with her trophy husband, reclining in _Regina’s_ throne—the one she had suffered through a decade of marriage to that old, pathetic excuse for a man the people called “King”. 

It was Snow’s fault that Daniel had been killed, that Regina’s heart had been shattered beyond repair, that all her hopes and dreams had been crushed when his heart was— _right in front of her._ Regina had been working tirelessly to get her revenge ever since, even going so far as to seek Rumplestiltskin’s help. He had schooled her in dark magic, offered her advice and wisdom, given her the Dark Curse…all for _nothing._ The essential ingredient for the Dark Curse was the heart of the thing you loved most: and Regina didn't love. She was ice. She was stone. The only thing in her heart was a dark, festering hatred for Snow White. 

That woman would suffer; Regina would use her dying breath to make sure Snow White suffered as deeply as _she_ had. 

And now that there was a child…

“Huntsman,” Regina said suddenly, her fiery black eyes sparking with inspiration. “You will bring me that child.”

The Huntsman glowered at her. “She’s innocent,” he growled. “I will not harm an innocent child—not even for you, _my Queen,_ ” he added mockingly. 

“I’m not asking you to harm her,” Regina said coolly. “Quite the contrary. I want you to bring her to me in perfect health, or _this—_ “she squeezed his heart, smiling cruelly as he cried out in pain, falling to his knees—“will be crushed into dust, dear Huntsman.”

She loosened her hold, allowing him to slowly push himself back into a stand, still breathing with difficulty. “Now, go,” she said, waving a careless hand. “And don’t come back until you have that child in your arms. Do you understand?”

He nodded, wincing as she dug her nails into the heart. “Yes, my Queen.”

“Good.”

Regina dropped the heart back in the box, and settled back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. _Finally._ Snow White had ruined her life, all because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. She had ripped away all the light in her life, all the love in her heart, just because she couldn't keep _one little secret._ She had stolen her life; and now Regina was going to steal hers.

Because when a child is born, she becomes the center of her parent’s world: their sun, their stars, their entire life. Snow White didn't realize it, but she had just given birth to Regina’s revenge. 

 

She really was a most beautiful little girl, though.

Regina caught her breath as the Huntsman carefully placed the little bundle in her arms. She traced her finger along the soft, plump cheeks, over the rosebud mouth, all the way up the little feathery tufts of blonde hair. The baby let out a soft, mewling cry, squirming in her arms; Regina almost smiled, feeling a spreading warmth in her chest as she gazed down at her.

“What’s her name?” she murmured, not taking her eyes off her.

“They called her ‘Emma’,” the Huntsman said, his voice sounding oddly strained. Regina glanced up, raising her eyebrows.

“Do I detect a hint of compassion in those dead eyes?” she asked, a smile twisting on her face. He didn't answer; he just looked at the baby, swallowing hard. Regina lowered her eyes, softly _shh_ ing as Emma let out another little cry. 

She would be the daughter Regina would never be able to have. She would learn magic; she would learn strength. She would learn that love is weakness, and power is everything. She would prove that a woman can not only the match the strength and cleverness of a man, but _exceed_ it, just as Regina’s mother had taught her. 

And one day, she would help Regina storm her own parents’ castle, and conquer their kingdom. Snow’s own daughter would put the tip of a sword to her neck—and kill her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Emma was everything Regina hoped for.

She was clever, so very clever. Regina could hand her a book and say, “Learn.”; Emma would take the book in her little hands, a slight frown etched on her face as she slowly flipped through the pages. A week later, she would come up to Regina with her hands behind her back, and give her a full report. 

She was strong. Most little girls would cry when they found their first wounded baby bird and nursed it back to health, only to have it die a few days later; Emma did not. Instead of grieving, she studied the bird as it died, tilting her head thoughtfully as it feebly flapped its wings. When Regina asked her why, she simply said, “It has to die someday, doesn't it?”

Most of all, she was powerful. Magic had never been so strong in a child, Regina thought in wonderment as she watched Emma craft a perfect fireball between her fingers. It was as though _power_ flowed through her veins, rather than blood. And Emma relished it, Regina could tell. The girl’s eyes would light up, a breathless smile on her face, fascinated by her own cleverness. She liked the feeling of strength, of power, of dominance. 

But for all that Regina saw of herself in Emma, there were times when she swore that Snow was looking up at her, blinking through curious green eyes. Perhaps it was the way she seemed to endear herself to everyone: the palace guards, otherwise cold and solemn men, would twitch a smile when the little girl pattered barefooted around the castle; the maidservants would tuck her hair behind her ear and tell her what a pretty little girl she was; even the Huntsman’s dark gaze would soften when he caught the mischievous glint in her smile. 

Perhaps it was her strange flashes of compassion: Regina sometimes caught it out of the corner of her eye. When she took Emma to the dungeons to show her the proper way to deal with those who questioned authority, Emma would avert her eyes and mumble something about, “Yes, Mother, I understand.” Regina could see it in her face that she was afraid to admit it to Regina, that was she was afraid to disappoint her, but the grueling punishments turned her stomach. 

“It’s all right,” Regina would tell her, stroking her hair. “Children have weaker souls; you’re still far too innocent to the ways of the world to truly understand, but this is necessary.”

“Yes, Mother.”

As she grew older, Emma grew wiser. She listened to Regina’s words, taking them in carefully and dedicating them to memory. She understood that Regina knew better than herself, a naiive young woman. She tried to strengthen her resolve, to force herself to be the blank stone wall Regina had taught her to be: blank stone walls were never hurt, never threatened, never challenged. She still struggled which rather worried Regina: after eighteen years, she’d’ve hoped Emma would have learned to immunize herself to others’ pain, others’ weaknesses. “There are two kinds of people in this world,” she told her. “Wolves and sheep. People who kill and people who get killed. Choose carefully, Emma.”

“I know, Mother.”

But in everything else, Emma excelled—particularly her magic. The potential Regina had seen in her as a little girl only grew stronger. She could conjure a fireball faster than you could blink, and her excitement turned to a feverish exhilaration. She loved magic and her power more than anything, and for a brief moment, there wasn't so much as a glimmer of Snow in her.

As far as Emma knew, Queen Snow and King David were sworn enemies of Regina, because of their prejudice against magic and all those with it. They banished Regina because they were afraid of her; and they would have done the same to Emma, had Regina not swept herself and her daughter away from them. If people like Emma and Regina were ever to feel truly safe in the world, they needed to be destroyed—them and all their followers.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“A heart.” Regina held up the glowing red heart she had just ripped from the horse’s chest, turning it slowly so Emma could study it. “It takes a great deal of skill to do it properly, but when you rip out a heart, you can control it.”

“And he’ll obey—just like that?” Emma’s eyes darted to the horse and back, as if she had to remind herself the heart was the more important of the two. 

“He has no choice,” Regina said coolly. “It takes strength and courage to be able to hold that kind of power over another creature; and I have faith that yours will be enough. You simply need to practice.”

Abruptly, she shoved the heart back into the horse’s chest, ignoring its cry of pain as it reared back on its hind legs. Emma winced, but quickly schooled her features into a mask of indifference. Regina stepped back, brushing her hands together, and turned to Emma with a smile.

“Your turn.”

Emma looked to her, her own heart thudding in the hollow of her throat. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said. 

“Nonsense,” Regina said briskly, eyeing the horse with an appraising eye. “Your magic is more powerful than mine was when I first learned. You _can_ do this.”

Emma inhaled deeply, nodding. “Okay,” she said, and stepped tentatively toward the horse, reaching her hand out. The horse tossed its head, whinnying nervously. Emma drew in a breath and took another step forward, her hand starting to tremble. 

“Emma,” Regina said warningly. 

“Just—give me a second,” she said, clenching her teeth. _You can do this, Emma. You can do this._ The horse backed away nervously.

“Show your authority,” Regina urged. “Don’t give him a chance to fight back. Just do it.”

“I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not trying!” Regina snapped. 

“It’s innocent!” Emma dropped her hand, turning to her with desperate eyes. “I understand punishing those who’ve wronged you, but I can’t do this to a defenseless creature. He’s done nothing.”

Regina pursed her lips. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” she said finally. “Perhaps by then—“

“Your Majesty!” A Black Knight galloped toward them frantically, followed by three others. Regina whirled around, glaring. 

“You better have a good reason for interrupting,” she spat, raising her chin as he came to a halt in front of her. “What is it, what do you want?”

“Apologies, my Queen,” he said, climbing down from his horse and dropping to one knee. “But we’ve had an attack on of our ships.”

Regina walked forward slowly, her hands on her hips. “Go on,” she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “What was the damage?”

“Not much,” he said. “We’ve captured a few of the men who were on the enemy ship, and from what we can tell, they were pirates masquerading as naval officers out of King Midas’s court.”

“What of the leader?” Regina frowned. “Do you have the man who perpetrated the attack, or am I going to have to have your head grace my lovely wall, Brethers?”

He gulped nervously, his voice quaking. “I am happy to report that we have him in our custody. He’s being taken to the dungeons as we speak.”

Regina twitched a smile, a cold spark in her eyes as she turned to Emma. “Well, there you are, my dear. Someone who’s wronged us, who needs to be punished. _Hardly_ innocent in the slightest.” 

Emma braced herself, taking in a deep breath. Regina’s eyes gleamed at her, the smile twisting further on her face.

“I want to see you rip out a heart.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The dungeons weren't really dungeons, so much as dank, cold caverns, haunted by tortured screams. Torches flickered along the hall, lighting their passage as they went deeper underground; they passed by inmates hanging their scrawny arms out of their cells, pleading, trying to grab at their skirts. Emma glanced at her mother, and took on her blank, cold indifference: these weren't men; they were creatures, not deserving of even a passing thought. 

“He’s down here,” Brethers said in a low voice, pointing to one of the cells. Emma leaned forward slightly, trying to peer in: the torchlight caught the end of a grimy metal chain, and the tip of a boot, but she couldn't see anything else. 

Regina stopped in front of the cell, lifting her chin imperiously. “Open it.”

Brethers took the key from his belt, and stuck it in the lock. After a few turns and creaks, the key came free and the door swung open. Regina sailed inside, Emma following at her heels.

“I need a torch,” Regina said, and Brethers lifted a torch from the wall and brought it in to light the cell.

Emma’s eyebrows rose as the torchlight hit the prisoner: both his wrists were clamped in chains, elbows resting on his knees.There was a mess of dark hair covering his face, although several scars and fresh cuts were visible along the sides. 

“And who might you be?” Regina asked coolly, arching a delicate eyebrow. “I’m told you’re the man behind the attack on my ships.”

“ _Ship,_ ” the man said, slowly lifting his head. “It was one ship.” He rattled his chains, exhaling frustratedly. “Are these really necessary? You’ve already got me locked behind bars.”

“They won’t be for very long,” Regina said, a smile curling on her face. She nudged his boot with the toe of hers. “What do they call you, pirate?”

“Baelfire,” he replied. “You’re the lady of the castle, I take it?”

“I am.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Baelfire nodded thoughtfully. “And the residing torturess, as well?”

Regina smiled more widely. “Actually, that would be my daughter, Emma,” she said, stepping back so Emma could step forward. “You’re going to find out what happens when a man is so foolish as to attempt an attack against _me.”_ She placed her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “And by extension, her.”

For the first time, Baelfire turned his head to look at Emma, narrowing a pair of skeptical, dark eyes at her. Emma stared back, forcing herself to remain impassive, even as her eyes took in the handsome face. 

“And what are you going to do to me?”

Emma drew in a breath, looking toward Regina. She nodded, her eyes flicking to the pirate and back, as if to say, _Go on._

Emma swallowed, feeling her heart thrum in her throat. This was possibly one of the most important moments in her entire life: the moment where she proved to her mother she had the strength to be cruel when necessary; had the courage to use her power. Because in this world ruled by magic-fearing-men, a sorceress could not afford to be anything less than invincible.

He eyed her warily as she stepped toward him, his boot scraping against the dirt floor as he instinctively pushed himself away from her. Emma sank to her knees so that she was eye-level with him, her gaze flickering between his eyes and his chest, where his beating heart waited to be ripped out.

Emma inhaled deeply, summoning her focus; she reached out her hand, feeling it tingle with dark magic. _He attacked our ship,_ she reminded herself. _He’s_ not _innocent._ He wasn't a person; he was a criminal. And he needed to pay for that. 

Her fingers brushed against the fabric of his tunic; she could almost _feel_ the vibration of his heart drumming against his chest, reminding her how very alive and vulnerable he was.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a low voice, watching her hand stretch toward him. Emma frowned, setting her jaw determinedly. 

 _Ripping your heart out,_ she thought, but she didn't speak to him. If she did, if she acknowledged him as a person, she didn't know if she’d be able to do it at all. 

“Listen to me,” he said, a note of desperation in his voice. “You don't have to do this.”

 _I do, actually._ Emma flicked her eyes to his, a cold smile crawling on her face—and in one fluid motion, plunged her hand into his chest. He let out a shout, the chains clattering as he struggled against them. Emma grimaced as her hand closed around the heart, trying to tug it out; it resisted once, twice—she _ripped_ it out, ignoring his cry of pain.  Emma caught her breath, marveling at the red, beating heart, tracing her fingers over the shadows dispersed in and around it, where his wickedness had made its home.

He stared at it with wide, fearful eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Regina said. Emma smiled briefly at the pride in her voice, keeping her eyes on the heart as she turned it in her hand.

She was literally holding this man’s life in the palm of her hand. If she wanted to, she crush it to dust; or she could squeeze and watch him spasm in pain; or she could speak to it and force him to her will. Anything she wanted. She had ultimate power over him.

The feeling sent delicious chills up her spine; a rush of exhilaration expanded her chest. Emma broke into a breathless smile, utterly transfixed by the heart.

“Are you going to kill me?” 

Emma looked up: he was glaring darkly at her, his mouth twisting into a snarl. She looked back, tilting her head curiously. Where had his fear gone? She could no longer see it in his eyes; perhaps he had hidden it behind the defiance he glared at her with.

“Are you going to kill me, witch?” he spat. “Go ahead, then. Crush it.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, and slowly squeezed; his face spasmed in pan as he fought against the scream in his throat.

Regina _hmph_ ed approvingly. “Not too tightly, Emma. I’m not ready for you to kill him just yet.”

Emma stood up slowly, loosening her hold on the heart. The pirate sagged, hanging heavily off the chains. Regina placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, gently guiding her behind her.

“You’ve done very well,” she said to Emma,  though her eyes gleamed at Baelfire. “Very well.”

Emma opened her mouth to thank her, but she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift down to the pirate’s. He glared back up at her, minutely shaking his head as if the very sight of her disgusted him. Emma involuntarily took a step back, taken aback—not by his disgust; by the flicker of shame that ran through her mind. 

“So, now what?” he said bitterly. “You’re just going to keep me here, chained up like an animal?”

“Yes,” Regina said coolly. “I am. Or rather—“ she jutted her head—“she is.”

Baelfire’s eyes flicked derisively back at Emma. “And how long are you going to hiss in her ear and tell her to keep me here?”

Regina didn’t answer; she turned around, raising her eyebrows at Emma to prod her out the door. Emma briefly glanced back at Baelfire once more, before turning around and walking out of the cell. 

“Hey,” he said, the chains rattling again as he struggled to sit up. “Hey!”

“Ignore him,” Regina muttered as Emma instinctively looked back. “Keep going. Look forward.”

Emma obediently directed her eyes in front of her, but she could still hear Baelfire’s shouts echoing after them.

“You can’t just leave me here!”

Emma dropped her eyes, looking at the heart she still grasped in her hand. “Mother…” she began uncertainly. “Is this really—?”

“Yes,” Regina said flatly. Emma closed her mouth, bowing her head as she trailed at Regina’s heels. 

She knew better, after all. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Emma.”

Emma lifted her head, looking across the long, mahogany table at Regina: she was frowning disapprovingly at her, her knife and fork poised on her plate. 

“You’re not eating.”

Emma obediently picked up her knife and fork, dropping her eyes to her plate. She didn't have much of an appetite: all she could think about was the heart she had ripped out of a defenseless man’s chest, resting in a tiny box on her dresser. 

Because no matter what Regina said, Emma couldn't reconcile herself to what she had done. Whatever crime the pirate had committed, or _attempted_ to commit, he had been utterly at her mercy; it was unnecessary to rip his heart out when he was already chained and beaten beneath the castle grounds.

“Are you unwell?” Regina asked, raising an eyebrow at her still-untouched plate. 

Emma shook her head minutely. 

“Is something troubling you?”

Emma raised her eyes, looking into Regina’s suspicious ones. That was all it took for her mother to know _exactly_ what was going on: she set down her knife and fork, and pushed her plate away to glare at Emma. 

“We have _discussed_ this countless times, Emma. When it is necessary to be cruel—“

“It wasn't necessary,” Emma said, unable to help herself. “You already had him captured and chained in one of the cells. You don't need him for anything. Why have me tear his heart out?”

“Because you still seem to think he’s innocent of something,” Regina said flatly. “Understand this, Emma: times like these are dangerous for women, especially powerful women. You cannot _afford_ to allow yourself to be swayed by a pretty face—“

“I am _not_ being swayed,” Emma said through clenched teeth. “I just don't think—“

“That’s the problem. You _don't_ think.” Regina stood up, roughly pushing her chair back. “I’ve quite lost my appetite.”

“Mother—” Emma anxiously rose in her seat. Regina ignored her, holding her head high as she swept away from her. Emma’s face fell as she slowly sank back into her seat, sighing heavily.

“Emma.”

Emma looked up to see Regina lingering the doorway. “Yes?” she said hopefully.

Regina turned, her lip curled in disdain. “I have no use for someone whose head is filled with senseless notions of mercy and innocence.”

Emma felt her breath catch in her chest, threatening tears in her eyes as Regina left.

The disappointment in her mother’s eyes, the shame in her voice, weighed heavily on her shoulder, dragging her back down to her seat. She rested her head in her hands, staring through her fingers at the fine linen tablecloth. 

She needed to do something to convince Regina that she _wasn't_ useless. Her entire life had been spent training in sorcery, so that one day they could rise against those who would have them and others like them executed. And if Emma couldn't force herself to stomach the unpleasant truth—that there _was_ no such thing as innocence—she might as well bow her head and personally offer them her neck for the chopping block.

She needed to do something.

 

* * *

 

“Mother?”

Regina glanced up from her scroll, still scratching the quill against it. “I’ve said everything I need to say, Emma. Leave.”

Emma didn’t leave; she walked in further, her hand concealed behind her back. “I have something to show you.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s important.”

Regina frowned, laying her quill down. “What’s important?”

Emma slowly brought out her hand, showing her the red, glowing heart it grasped. Regina eyed it, arching one eyebrow, and raised her eyes to Emma’s.

“And what is this?”

Emma nodded toward the window. “Look.”

Regina looked at her curiously, rising in her seat to go over to the window. Through the paned glass, she could see one of the stable boys in the yard below, his hands grasped over the reins of the restless horse throwing its head back and whinnying pitifully. Emma joined Regina at the window, her hand closing more tightly around the heart; her jaw set in a determined grimace. 

The horse flailed more violently, the whinnies turning to what could be only described as screams as Emma’s hand shook with force of crushing its heart. Regina watched with wide eyes as the horse suddenly dropped to the ground, dead. Beside her, Emma opened her hand, letting out a tiny dust storm.

“There,” she breathed. “No innocence, no mercy.”

Regina nearly smiled. “How did it feel? To hold that power in your hands, how did it _feel?_ ”

Emma tore her eyes away from the horse’s unmoving form, her face white. She shook her head slightly, almost in disbelief.

“I loved it.”

* * *

 

The elation still swelled in her chest, both exhilarating and sickening her, as they made they way to the dungeons the next next day. Her hand still tingled with the force of squeezing the horse’s heart to dust; her heart still thrummed against her chest, making her breath uneven.

Emma gripped the box determinedly, taking a deep breath. She couldn't afford to be preoccupied, not now: Regina was going to have her question the man whose heart she now held in her hands. They had gone over the proper technique countless times last night, but she needed to be focused if she was going to do this properly. 

The standing guard unlocked the grimy metal cell door as they approached, swinging it open for them. Baelfire’s head hung down heavily, his face in shadows; but Emma could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he was awake and well aware of their presence.

“And what do you want?” he muttered, slowly lifting his head to glare at Regina. “Come to kill me yet?”

Regina answered him with a bland smile, and looked at Emma, giving her silent instructions. Emma took a deep breath, nodding: they had agreed that Emma should be the one to do all the talking today. She needed to be able to recognize him as a living, breathing person, and still have the strength to do what needed to be done. 

Baelfire’s eyes traveled to Emma as she lifted the heart out of the box, handing the box to Regina as she walked closer to him. She sank to her knees, just as she had before, to look him directly in the eyes. 

“State your name.”

“Ah,” he said, a mocking smile twisting on his face. “She speaks.”

Emma frowned slightly, gripping the heart tightly enough to make him wince. “State your name.”

“B-Baelfire,” he said, a little breathless. “My name is Baelfire.”

Emma almost smiled. _I did it._ Now, it was time to put her newfound skill to use.

“Your crew attacked one of our merchant ships disguised as part of Midas’s navy. Why?”

Baelfire glowered at her, keeping his mouth firmly closed. Emma raised her eyebrows, squeezing his heart harder: he let out a shout, throwing his head back.

“Why was your crew disguised as Midas’s navy?” she repeated, keeping the heart gripped tightly in her hand. “Answer me.”

“Arthur of Camelot paid handsomely for us to attack Regina’s ships dressed as Midas’s navy men,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

He shut eyes tightly, his voice strained with pain. “H-he wanted us to incite a war between you and Midas.”

“Why?”

“Midas is sieging his kingdom; he needs him to draw away his forces. He—”

“Wanted to use us as a distraction,” Emma grimaced. “Fool.” She held up the heart, relaxing her hold on it. “I’m going to let you breathe for a minute.”

Baelfire’s head hung heavily as his shoulders heaved with the effort of catching his breath. Emma tilted her head, watching him curiously. 

What kind of a pirate allowed himself to be hired by a king? From what she understood, the purpose of pirating was to avoid the monarchies and their laws: they were parasites that simply feasted on whatever treasure they could snag. Why would Arthur trust them with employment, and why would Baelfire agree to it?

“Why did you allow yourself to be hired by Arthur?” she asked, her hand closing around the heart again. “Why did you agree to this, what interest do you have in Camelot protected?”

Baelfire inhaled sharply as she squeezed his heart, but he clenched his teeth and glared at her, not answering. Emma frowned, and squeezed again; he let out a cry of pain, but again, refused to answer.

“Very well,” Emma said grimly. “You leave me no choice.”

She didn't want to do this: the idea of so forcefully manipulating another living thing still turned her stomach. Torture for the purposes of interrogation was one thing; but robbing someone entirely of their free will was another. She lifted the heart close to her mouth, and whispered to it, ordering him to be answer her questions honestly and completely.

Baelfire’s mouth opened, and words started pouring out, despite his best efforts to stem them. His voice came out strained and venomous, but he was powerless to stop it.

“I have no interest in Camelot; my interest lies in Midas’s defeat. Many years ago, my sister, Gwendolyn, caught the eye of the king. She was but thirteen, a lady-in-waiting to his daughter, Kathryn—little more than a child, but his eyes preyed on her every time she walked in the room. I protected her as best I could; told her never to find herself alone with him, told her to stay away from him. Midas knew what I was doing. And he knew that I couldn't protect her if I wasn't there. I received my navy commission within the month, and Gwendolyn was left behind, at his mercy. 

“A year later, I returned on sailor’s leave. I looked for Gwendolyn—looked everywhere, spoke to anyone who would listen—but I couldn't find her. I went to the king, demanding to know where my sister was. And he told me…” His face twisted in pain—even though, she wasn't squeezing his heart even slightly. “And he told me she must have died. Such a little thing, he said. Must have succumbed to the plague and died, the poor dear.” Baelfire glared darkly at the ground, losing himself in the memory. “He murdered her.  She was only thirteen years old, and he _murdered her._ If I’d just been there…If I could have just protected her… _”_

Emma drew in a breath, swallowing against the lump in her throat. She wanted to close her ears against the horror, turn her eyes away from the broken man before her, but Regina was right there. She couldn’t. 

“I can’t take on Midas’s army by myself.” Baelfire lifted his head, looking at her grimly. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weary sadness. “Arthur offered me a way to bring him to his knees, and I took it. I don’t give a damn about Camelot or Regina. I just want to see Midas’s head at my feet, to avenge my sister.”

His eyes flicked to his heart in Emma’s hand. “I suppose that’s over now, though.”

Emma looked at him wordlessly. He slowly slid his gaze back to her, taking in a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve answered all your questions, I’m of no further value to you.” He closed his eyes, bracing himself. “Go ahead. Crush my heart. Kill me.”

“No.”

Baelfire’s eyes flew open, as surprised as Emma was to hear the word come out of her mouth. He stared at her with wide eyes as she stood up, brushing dirt off her dress. “What?”

“Emma,” Regina frowned disapprovingly. 

“I am not going to crush your heart because you ask me to,” Emma said, her eyes not leaving Baelfire’s. “I will not end your pain so easily.”

_I will not kill you for grieving your sister._

“I will not allow _you_ to order me to do anything. _”_

_I will not punish you for loving your sister and hating the man who killed her._

Emma turned to Regina, raising an imperious eyebrow. “ _I_ ripped his heart out. It belongs to me. Therefore, _I_ will decide when it is to be crushed.”

Regina looked at her for a long time, narrowing her gaze as if to read through her words, to decipher the thoughts she tried to conceal beneath them. Emma looked back coolly, forcing her face to remain impassive. She tried to convince herself it was the truth, so Regina wouldn't be able to accuse her of lying.

Regina studied her for another moment “I suppose you’re right,” she said, a proud smile crawling on her face. “Very well, Emma…Do with it what you will.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Emma walked calmly down the hall, her expression bland. The two maidservants who were escorting her to her bedchamber kept stealing glances at the heart she still held in her hand, but they didn't dare speak. Neither did Emma: she didn't trust herself to do anything but stare straight ahead and try to numb herself to her surroundings.

She allowed one of them to step in front of her and pull the door open; without a second glance, she sailed inside, keeping her head high.

 “Leave me,” she said coolly, not turning around. The maidservants muttered a, “Yes, milady”, and the door closed behind them. Emma quickly turned around and strode the door, her hands trembling as she clicked the lock shut. 

She leaned her back against the door, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. Her heart was hammering against her chest, her head filled with an unpleasant tingling.

She was sickened.

She’d held that man’s heart in her hand, looked into his haunted eyes, forced him to relive his most painful memories…and walked away. Like he was nothing. 

No matter how much she tried to convince herself, how much she tried to absorb Regina’s words, she couldn't make herself believe that. He was a person. He had a life, an existence, an identity. Just as she couldn't help but suspect the universe designed itself around her fate, so did he. How would he look at the world now? As a place that offered nothing but suffering and injustice; a place that ignored a man’s innocence and punished him for grieving his sister; a place where cruel women ripped a man’s heart from his chest and showed it to him, even as she was hissing into it, forcing him to relinquish whatever scraps of his reputation and dignity he still had. 

And she was responsible for that. 

Emma lowered her eyes, looking at the heart she still held loosely in her hand. It thumped softly, the little shadows scattered inside it moving with the rhythm.  She traced her thumb along them, frowning slightly. Each one was an unforgivable sin, an eternal blemish…a sign of evil. She wondered how many shadows had collected on her heart. 

_“Go ahead. Crush my heart. Kill me.”_

_“No.”_

He’d looked shocked when she had refused. Was it because he couldn't believe she could be so merciful, or that she could be so cruel?

Emma drew in a shuddering breath, tearing her eyes away from the heart. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. She couldn't hold a man’s life in her hand, hold his free will in her hand. The power was too intoxicating…It unsettled her, that she could be so addicted to this feeling when it came at the cost of dehumanizing a person like this.

But Regina…

If she tried to return the heart, Regina would know. And then, she might force her to do something worse: Regina had a creative mind when it came to cruelty.  If Emma tried to be merciful, she could very well be sending him straight into hell. 

Was there nothing she could do?

Some small comfort…a little food, a little wine…a few kind words, perhaps? 

He would never trust them, coming from her. But if she could convince him…somehow invite a little warmth into the cold, dead, painful world he now lived in…

Tonight. She could sneak into the kitchen, snitch a few harmless scraps, nothing anyone would miss…She couldn't return his heart, but she didn't have to treat him like one of the dogs chained up outside. Nor would she.

* * *

 

 _Why? Why him?_ she asked herself, peeking from underneath the heavy hood of her cloak at all the other miserable souls staring at her with vacant eyes as she passed their cells. Baelfire was not the only man suffering in here: he was not the only man wondering if death was more pleasurable than life, not the only man trying to remember whether or not he had ever been truly human. Yet he was the only one she ever bothered to worry about. 

Perhaps because it was Emma who was personally responsible for his misery: Regina hadn't lifted a finger against him, it had all been Emma’s doing. Every other man in here…that was Regina’s work. She had inflicted their pain, nurtured their torment, smiled at their screams of agony. 

But Baelfire’s was Emma’s fault.

She made her way down the dark, cold passageway, keeping her head down as she followed the familiar trail to Baelfire’s cell. She stopped in front of the grimy cell, lifting her head slightly to look at him through the bars: he could have been asleep, if not for the sudden growl that escaped his throat.

“Come to check on your pet?”

Emma flinched at the pure venom in his words, but she didn’t answer him. She raised her hand, waving it over the lock. The door swung open, and she stepped inside, slowly lowering her hood. 

“What do you want?” Baelfire spat, glaring up at her. “I’ve got nothing left to give you.”

Emma said nothing as she knelt down, setting the basket beside her. Baelfire eyed it suspiciously, jutting his chin toward it.

“What’s that?”

“Your heart,” she said in a low voice, reaching inside carefully. Baelfire tensed, watching she withdrew her hand to show him his beating heart; his breathing turned uneven, the chains clinking as he tried to move away from her.

“I can’t give it you,” Emma said, looking up at him. “But I want you to know it’s safe.” 

“Safe?” he repeated scathingly. “In your hand? Do I look like a fool to you?”

Emma responded by waving her hand toward the chains that bound him: they opened, releasing his wrists. Baelfire stared in wonderment she reached for his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s safe,” she repeated, placing the heart in his hand. “I can’t let you keep it, though. I need to take it back when I leave.”

She turned back to the basket, pulling out the loaf of bread and the small cask of wine. “There wasn't much I could take without it being missed, but I found these.” She set them on top of the basket and pushed it toward him. “Here.”

Baelfire looked at it, then slowly lifted his gaze, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why are you being kind to me?”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “It isn't kindness to treat someone like a human being,” she said. “You’re hungry. You’re thirsty. You’re in pain. You are entitled to some comfort.”

“Ah…” he said shrewdly, pointing at her. “Guilt.”

“Yes,” she agreed, shrugging. “After all, I am also human.”

Baelfire raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”

“What?” 

“Human?” He dropped his eyes to the heart, marveling at it. “I’ve never seen a human rip a heart out of man’s chest.”

“Just because I am skilled in magic, that doesn't mean I’m not human,” Emma said icily. 

She should have known: he was like every other enemy outside the castles walls. He believed that magic was a sin, a curse; it was some kind of disease the corrupted a soul, turned them evil. And all because that power was beyond him. 

“What are you?” he asked suddenly, looking up. “On the outside, I see a simple girl, but you have the soul of something darker.” He held the heart a little higher, his voice trembling. “I’ve fought my share of demons, but none of them could do something like this. What _are_ you?”

Emma looked at the heart, watching the shadows swim inside it. She swallowed against the temptation to snatch it from his hand and force him to understand. “Just a girl,” she said hoarsely. “I am no demon.”

She looked over her shoulder at a sudden creak, and quickly turned back to Baelfire “I shouldn't be here,” she whispered, gathering up her basket, and handing him the bread and wine. “I’ll leave these for you, but make sure you put the chains back on your wrists before morning. And I…I need the heart.”

Baelfire pulled it protectively to himself for a minute; then relented, slowly reaching out to drop it in her hand. 

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, withdrawing his hand. Emma carefully hid it in the basket, and turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Emma stopped, not turning around. She stared straight ahead, watching the torchlights flicker against the walls. 

“Thank you.”

Emma nearly smiled, but forced herself to keep her face impassive. She didn't answer him; she simply walked out of the cell, waving her hand over the lock as she passed it.

_You’re welcome._

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What shall we do about Arthur?” Regina asked, idly twisting the ring around her middle finger. Emma watched the light dance off the emerald as Regina turned it round and round, her thoughts slowly gathering.

“It  worries me that he doesn't seem very concerned about provoking us,” Emma mused. “He doesn't consider us a threat.”

Regina nodded slowly. “Go on.”

“He doesn't consider us a threat, so we have an advantage.” Emma tore her eyes away from the emerald and looked up.  “We could ally ourselves with Midas, and send our forces to finish the siege and bring Camelot to its knees.”

“Do we have the manpower for that?” Regina frowned. 

“Midas can supply the manpower for overwhelming Arthur’s army; our soldiers are ten times more skilled, and if we enchant the weapons, they could easily overtake him.”

“And if Midas turns on us?”

“He won’t,” Emma said coolly. “We give the spoils of Camelot to Midas; we don’t need it. He will consider us standing allies, enjoying his new throne; and since the fight will be easily won with our sorcery, he will not condemn us for it. When the time is right, we will ask his aid in storming Misthaven; he will oblige, and then we will take our _own_ spoils. By that time, if Midas still considers turning on us, we will have enough forces to over power him.”

Regina raised her eyebrows. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

“I understand how men think,” Emma said carefully. “They do not expect women to match them, so they do not question our motives. Midas will accept our help without worrying about the potential threat we could pose.”

A proud smile flickered on Regina’s face. “Very wise of you, taking advantage of these backward times. You will be an incomparable queen one day.”

Emma felt her heart skip a beat at the word “queen”. It was so easy to forget what this was all for: overtaking Misthaven and beginning a new age where sorcery and women reigned free. Regina would usher it in, and when her sun had set, Emma would take the throne. Times were changing, and they were turning the wheel with their own hands.

“Thank you,” she said finally, lowering her eyes.

“Emma,” Regina said in a very different tone. Emma looked up through her lashes as Regina reached over, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear, stroking the side of her face. “I’m proud of you,” she smiled gently. “You are more than I ever dreamed of.”

Emma felt her tears prick her eyes, a small smile on her face. It broke her, melted her, warmed her beyond belief when Regina expressed any sign of love or affection. Her mother was such a hard, stern woman who valued power and intelligence over love: her approval was far easier to earn than her affection. But once in a while, she had those moments where she broke the ice-queen-exterior, and loved her the way a mother loved a daughter. 

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice cracking. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Regina laughed softly. “You have to want more than that, dear. You’re far too powerful to be content with following someone else’s dreams.”

“My dreams are your dreams,” Emma said earnestly. “I _want_ to end the discrimination against magic. I’m tired of being afraid of who I am outside of this castle.”

“Don’t be afraid of who you are _inside_ this castle, either,” Regina said. “I was wrong to worry about your sensitivities. They give you a unique insight into others’ minds, and that is an invaluable skill in this world.”

 _An invaluable skill…_ She hoped Regina would remember that the next time she flinched at a whip cracking into a man’s flesh; that she would remember it wasn't weakness to be sensitive—it was simply another facet of strategizing.

* * *

 

That’s all it was, she told herself as she made her way back to Baelfire’s cell that night. It was strategizing. She didn't want to alienate someone who may be potentially useful, who could give insight on the mechanisms of Arthur’s mind. Earning his trust was worthwhile. 

She hadn't seen him since that first night, one week ago today. She hadn't had the chance, with Regina pacing the room, trying to figure out their next move. But Regina was sleeping soundly in her bed tonight.

She shifted the basket to her other hand to wave her right hand over the lock. The door swung open, the hinges creaking loudly enough to startle Baelfire awake. She put a finger to her lips, warning him to be silent; the door closed behind her as she knelt down, bringing the basket around. 

He didn't scoot away from her this time, but he still eyed her warily. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she said quietly, waving her hand over the chains to release them from his wrists. “Here.”

He inhaled sharply as she leaned forward and placed the heart in his hand. Emma looked up, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. It wasn’t… _fear,_ not quite: wary, certainly; suspicion, perhaps; but there was something else…something she didn't recognize.

“What?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. 

Baelfire shook his head slightly, his eyes not leaving hers. “You’re strange,” he said wonderingly. “I almost believe you are as innocent as you look…” He dropped his eyes to the heart, letting out a heavy sigh. “But then I remember.”

Emma slowly sat back. “You remember what?” she said, barely above a whisper. _That I’m an evil sorceress? That you have been brainwashed to fear and hunt people like me? That I am somehow not as human as you?_

“I don’t understand how such cruelty can come from…” Baelfire gestured at her helplessly. “This.”

Emma said nothing; she just raised her eyebrows, prodding him to explain.

“By day, you threaten to crush my heart; by night, you bring me comfort.” He shook his head, looking at the ceiling. “I don't understand you.”

Emma looked at her hands, carefully measuring her next words. “Soon, Regina will walk me down to this cell and have me interrogate you again.”

He turned white, remembering the last excruciating interrogation, when Emma had nearly crushed his heart to dust.

“She will have me question you about Arthur,” Emma went on. “Take my advice: cooperate this time. I don't want to hurt you, but if Regina asks…I have no choice.”

Baelfire glanced down at his heart. “No choice,” he repeated softly. “Much like myself when you hold this in your hand.” He looked up, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Does she hold yours?”

“No.”

His voice turned colder. “So you lied. You do this to me of your free will? Must be nice, having that—“

“She’s my mother,” Emma cut in swiftly. “She’s all I have.”

“…Your mother?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her for a minute; then slowly lowered his eyes. “I felt the same way about my sister,” he said quietly. “I’d have done anything for her.” He took a reluctant breath, sighing. “I suppose I can’t condemn you for that.”

“So I may be human after all?” she asked softly, keeping the small smile on her face hidden behind her hair. “Even though I am a sorceress?”

“I have no idea what you are, milady,” he said, his voice laced with irony. “You are a riddle.”

Emma lifted her head, still smiling. “That I am,” she said. “Does that frighten you?”

“This frightens me a bit more,” he said wryly, lifting the heart. “Although, not as much as it did.” 

Emma’s smile faded a little as she looked at the heart, remembering the words she had forced out of his throat. “I’m sorry about your sister,” she said in a low voice. “I can’t imagine what kind of pain you must be in.”

“It’s been seven years,” he muttered. “It should have been me.”

Emma frowned. “What?”

“It should have been _me.”_ Baelfire glared the heart in his hand, almost as if he were contemplating crushing it. “If I hadn't been in the way, he might have spared her. He didn't need to kill her— he did that to show me what happens when you defy a king. I should have been the one to die. I regret with every fiber of my being that I wasn’t.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Baelfire looked up incredulously. “Who are you to tell me what I should and should not regret?” he hissed. “She was my _sister—_ my flesh and blood, my _only_ flesh and blood. She was everything to me!”

“And you would put her through the torment of watching her brother— _her_ only flesh and blood—die? Of abandoning her to this cruel world without you, to the mercy of that man?”

He fell silent as he stared at her, the words evaporating in his throat. Emma shifted her eyes around, avoiding his gaze. 

“I should go,” she said finally, pushing herself to a stand. “Cooperate when Regina has me question you. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you force my hand—“

“I understand,” he said quietly. He held out the heart to her. “You’ll be needing this back.”

Emma picked up her basket, carefully placing it inside. She could feel his eyes on her as she covered it.

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name,” she said, not looking up.

“I know the name of a sorceress who ripped out my heart and showed it to me,” he allowed. “But there are times when I see a human girl, who just happens to be skilled in magic.”

Emma kept her eyes down as she lifted the hood over her head. “My name is Emma,” she said in a low voice. 

“Baelfire.”

“I know.”

Although, she reflected as she walked out of the cell, it was nicer to hear the name offered rather than forced out of his throat.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Emma folded her hands in her lap, keeping her eyes firmly away from the little box that held Baelfire’s heart. The silver throne was hard and uncomfortable, forcing her back to be straight and regal: she hadn't yet learned to naturally carry herself that way. 

Regina sat in the bigger, more ornate throne next to her, with all the grace and silent fury of a queen. She lifted her chin superciliously, nodding to the guards that flanked the great wooden doors. “Bring him in.”

Emma looked up as the doors creaked open. There were at least ten guards marching in, their chainmail clinking and spears dragging, but her eyes only focused on the prisoner held on either side by two guards. 

They came to a halt in the center of the room. Baelfire lifted his head, looking around in wonder: of course, the pirate would be dumbstruck by the magnificence and grandeur of royalty. Emma dearly hoped it was enough to persuade him to talk, and that she wouldn't have to resort to squeezing his heart. 

Regina gave a little wave off her hand, indicating for the guards to bring him forward.They marched him forward, pushing him roughly to his knees. Regina looked to Emma, giving her a small nod.

Emma kept her face expressionless as she carefully reached into the box and pulled out Baelfire’s heart. She held it as loosely as she dared, but she could see him wincing as he slowly lifted his head.

“Scribe,” Regina called out lazily. A man in the corner unfurled a scroll and dipped his quill in ink, preparing to take notes on Baelfire’s interrogation. Regina’s advisory officers sat on the other side, thoughtfully leaning forward in their seats. 

“State you name for the court,” Regina intoned, her hands curling around the armrests of her throne. Baelfire’s eyes flickered to Emma, a wary look in them. She looked back steadily, willing him to hear her silent pleas.

_Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Answer the questions, don’t make me hurt you._

He almost imperceptibly nodded, and tore his eyes away from her to look at Regina. “Baelfire,” he said, his voice hoarse with weariness. 

“And tell the court how you came to be here, _Baelfire._ ”

“I was captured after attempting an attack on one of your ships…”

The establishing questions soon gave way to more detailed, strategic questions. Regina asked him to illustrate the defense system around Arthur’s castle; she asked him about the size of Arthur’s naval forces, and to estimate how much manpower he had at his command; she asked him about how sophisticated their weapons were, if he knew anything about his suppliers and supporters, how the siege had affected his ability to retaliate. 

Baelfire answered directly; Emma held his heart only to serve as a reminder that if needed, she would force him to cooperate, regardless of how reluctant she was to do so. During the barrage of questions, his eyes kept darting back to her, as if asking for reassurance that he was doing what he was supposed to. Emma would respond with the smallest of nods; he would relax and continue answering Regina’s questions, his voice a little steadier. 

“…but that’s only what I’ve seen with my own eyes.” Baelfire looked at Emma, as if specifically directing his next words at her. “Trust is a rare commodity in my world. I doubt Arthur would confide all his secrets to a pirate.”

Emma held his gaze, his words echoing in the back of her mind: _Trust is a rare commodity in my world._ Did he mean it was difficult for him to trust or to be trusted?

“So you have no other useful information to offer me?” Regina asked, arching an eyebrow. 

Baelfire dragged his eyes away from Emma, tensing as he looked into Regina’s cold eyes. “No, milady,” he said. “I have told you everything I know.”

“Hmm.” Regina glanced at Emma, then rested her eyes meaningfully at the heart. Emma’s own heart sped up, hearing Regina’s unspoken command: _Crush it, he’s of no further value._

 _No._ She gripped it a little tighter; Baelfire inhaled sharply, bending over in pain. Emma looked over, instantly loosening her hold.

For one horrible second, she thought Regina had noticed; but then Regina flicked her eyes back to her guards, calmly ordering them to bring Baelfire back to his cell. Emma inwardly breathed in relief, watching them pull him to his feet. Baelfire didn't look away from her until one of the guards at his side impatiently turned him around. The doors swung shut behind them, rattling from the force of the heavy wood slamming back. 

“You’re dismissed,” Regina called out to her advisors, waving a careless hand. Chairs scraped and feet shuffled as they stood up to bow respectfully before leaving the room; Regina barely glanced at them: her eyes were trained on Emma as she carefully placed the heart back in the box. 

Regina didn't speak until all but the two of them had left the room. Her voice echoed in the empty, cavernous room, surrounding Emma from all directions.

“What do you plan to do with that?” she asked, nodding toward the box. “He said so himself, he’s no longer useful.”

Emma tensed, praying her face didn't betray the panic she felt racing in her veins. “I’m not sure yet,” she said, keeping her eyes down. “But I don’t want to kill him and find out later that we could have used him.”

“Why? What else do you think we could use him for?” There was a note of suspicion in her mother’s voice, which pierced Emma to her very soul. If Regina distrusted her—even _slightly—_ she didn't know what to think, what to do: it sent her into a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, making her voice tremble and her hands shake. 

“I know what I’m doing, Mother. There’s no harm or risk in keeping him alive.”

Regina raised her eyebrows coolly. “See that there’s not.”

* * *

 

Her mind anxiously picked over Regina’s words as she made her usual way to the dungeons, keeping her hood lowered over her bowed head. She had worn the darkest cloak she owned and tucked her pale hair as far back as she could, as if it could make her less visible. The way Regina had looked at her unsettled Emma: the lingering note of suspicion and disapproval in Regina’s eyes made her heart pound, turning her stomach. She had almost decided to stay back, but at the last moment, gathered up the basket and the heart, and slipped out of her chamber. 

Baelfire looked up as she opened the cell door and swept inside. “I almost thought you weren't coming,” he said, his eyes following her as she knelt down with the basket. Emma waved her hand over his chains, releasing his wrists.

“I almost didn’t,” she said, taking out his heart. “Here.”

Baelfire lowered his eyes, looking at the beating, shadowed heart in her hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “I know it’s safe.”

“You…” Emma blinked disbelievingly. “What?”

“I trust you.” Baelfire looked back up at her. “You could have crushed it today. I know Regina wanted you to. I know her advisors wanted you to. Maybe _you_ wanted to. But you didn’t: you promised that no harm would come to me if I cooperated, and you kept that promise—against your mother’s wishes. And for that, I trust you.”

Emma stared at him, wondering if she was imagining all this. He—he _trusted_ her? A sorceress who held his heart, had the power and ruthlessness to kill him on a whim, and he _trusted_ her? 

“I thought trust was a rare commodity in your world,” she said, keeping her hand outstretched in case he came to his senses and took it. “You said so.”

“I did. And it is.” Baelfire lifted his chin, looking at her steadily. “But trust is also something that can be earned.” His eyes flickered to the heart. “Go on, put it back.”

Emma looked between him and the heart a few times, then drew back her hand and placed the heart in the basket. Baelfire tilted his head, studying her.

“You know, it’s difficult to see properly down here,” he said thoughtfully. “I didn't notice it at first, but today I realized how…familiar you are.” He frowned, shaking his head slightly. “I can’t put my finger on it, but you remind me of someone.”

Emma looked up, her hood still half-hiding her face. “I don’t see how,” she said. “Unless you’ve met many sorceresses?”

“I haven’t,” he said, smiling faintly. “That’s not what it is. You look like someone. Perhaps a girl I met on my travels, I’m not sure. But you look like someone.” He turned his head, arching an eyebrow. “You’re certain we haven't met before?”

“It’s impossible,” she said simply. “My entire life has been spent in this castle. I’ve never stepped a foot past the grounds.”

Baelfire grimaced. “My God, that must be suffocating.”

“Not really,” she shrugged. “I have no other experience to compare it to. It just is.”

“Well, I don’t know how you can bear it,” he said, shifting restlessly. “Just thinking about being trapped in here for the rest of my life is enough to drive me mad. Actually living through it is like living in the seventh circle of hell.”

“Better than death, though,” Emma said, a hint of a question in her voice. Baelfire heard it, and nodded his head reassuringly.

“I much prefer my head _on_ my neck, than beside it,” he said. “I’ll need it, if I’m ever going to get close enough to Midas to kill him.”

“And once you kill Midas, then what?” Emma smiled wryly. “I suppose you’ll go back to attacking ships and ransacking the royal navy?”

“That’s just a means of funding. It’s not my life.” Baelfire leaned his head back against the wall, gazing at the ceiling as if it were a sky full of stars. “I’ll take my ship and sail around, until I hear a rumor of the Fountain of Youth or the Holy Grail or some other fantastic treasure. Then I’ll chart my course and chase after it until the wind blows me in another direction.” The light in his eyes dimmed, his voice taking on a bitter edge. “But that comes after Midas. And somehow I doubt I’ll ever get my chance at him.” He looked around the cell ruefully. “Not from in here, anyway.”

Emma toyed with a loose string on the hem of her cloak, thinking about how it was probably far more possible for Baelfire to kill Midas than he realized. Regina was already making preparations for his eventual arrival, for when he came to discuss an alliance: he’d be _just_ beyond Baelfire’s grasp.

She wasn't sure whether or not she should tell him that. It startled her that she was even _considering_ telling him that: it was none of her concern, whether or not he succeeded in his quest for revenge; none of her concern, whether or not he got to chase after the Fountain of Youth; none of her concern, whether or not the wind ever blew him in her direction again. He was trapped in here, and he very likely would be for the rest of his life. 

She didn't realize he’d been staring at her until she looked up, lifting her chin to see past the hood of her cloak. “What?” she asked, instinctively drawing back. “What is it?”

“No, you just…” Baelfire shook his head, frowning thoughtfully. “You look so familiar, I know I’ve seen you before. Not here—but I’ve seen your face.”

Emma caught her breath as he leaned forward, gently pulling the hood from her head. He lingered for a moment, studying her: his eyes narrowed, the frown etched on his face deepening as he tried to place her.

“I don’t know why,” he said at last, sitting back. “But for some reason, I remember you.”

Emma shook her head, not taking her eyes off him. “It’s impossible,” she repeated. “I’ve been here my entire life.”

“A waste,” he said bluntly. “You’re far too powerful to be locked away, serving Regina’s every whim.”

“She says the same thing,” Emma said.

“And yet, here you stay.” Baelfire looked at her wonderingly, slightly shaking his head. “Why not leave? Get out of here, see the world, do something with your skills. A girl who can not only use magic, but also has the discipline to use it wisely…? You’re a rarer commodity than trust.”

“I don’t know if I would say I have discipline,” Emma confessed. “Normally, I have to restrain myself from using magic. I…I like the power, I won’t lie. I like being in control of something, bending it to my will.” She glanced at the basket, the elated feeling in her chest dulling. 

Baelfire followed her line of vision, his eyes resting on the basket. “Didn’t you ever want to crush it?” he asked quietly. “Wouldn’t that be the ultimate power? Taking another life in the palm of your hand?”

“I have,” Emma said, not looking up. “The first heart I ripped out. It was a horse, just an innocent animal. Regina wanted me to crush its heart, to show no mercy, to embrace the power I had over it. But I couldn’t.” She took in a breath. “And then I felt guilty for disappointing her, so I took the heart, and I let her watch as I crushed it in my hand.”

“And it sickened you.”

“No.” Emma tore her eyes away and looked at him. “I loved it. Every second of it.” She shook her head, her eyes not leaving his. “I never want to feel that again. _That_ was what sickened me. That euphoria. Because I _knew_ how innocent it was, I _knew_ that morally and rationally, I didn't want to do this. But power doesn't listen to moral and reason: it listens to greed and bloodthirst. I rely on my mind too much to let it be infected by that.” 

Baelfire was silent for a moment. Emma waited for him to shake his head, scoffing that he should have known she was as evil as the stories said, as all sorceresses were; that he should have known there was a demon behind the angel face. 

Except he didn’t.

“You see?” He pointed at her. “ _That_ is discipline. _That_ is wisdom.”

Emma looked at him in surprise. “You don't think me evil? Even after I told you that?”

“I don’t,” he said simply, dropping his hand. “An evil person wouldn't bother fighting against the evil inside them.”

Emma tilted her head, considering him. “And you?” she asked. “Do you fight against your evils?”

Baelfire looked at her steadily. “I’m a bit more lenient with my evils,” he said. “But I’ve had my struggles.”

A smile flickered on her face. “I have to say—“

The door suddenly swung open, crashing against the wall as Regina strode in . Emma stood up immediately, her heart thudding in her throat, her head throbbing with terror. _What is she doing here?_ she thought wildly, her breathing shallow and rapid. _Gods help me._

Regina’s eyes trailed around the room, her lip curled back in disdain. She looked between Baelfire and Emma, dragging her eyes away from his defiant ones to rest on Emma’s fearful ones. Finally, they dropped to the basket.

Emma held her breath as she bent down and picked it up, peeking inside. Regina looked at it for a moment, then slowly raised her eyes, staring at Emma incredulously. In one swift motion, she took it out, letting the basket fall to the floor, and shoved it toward her, snarling.

 _“Crush it._ ”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Emma felt the blood drain from her face, quailing under the force of Regina’s glare. Baelfire’s eyes flickered between her and Regina. 

“Mother…” Emma began hoarsely. “Y-you don’t understand.”

“I think I understand too well,” Regina hissed, shoving the heart at her more insistently. “And that’s why I need you to prove me wrong, and crush his heart. _Kill him._ ”

“No,” she heard herself say immediately. 

Regina’s eyebrows shot up; she stared at her in disbelief. “ _No?_ ”

Emma glanced at Baelfire; he looked back at her steadily, slightly shaking his head. _You don’t have to do this,_ his eyes said.

But she did. Regina may have been her mother, but she couldn't allow her to manipulate her like this: not when it was a matter of life and death. Emma turned back to her, steeling her nerves. 

“That heart belongs to me,” she said, holding out her hand for it. Regina looked at it, and scoffed, not relinquishing the heart.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I am being a queen,” Emma said coldly, lifting her chin with as much authority as she could muster. “When I sit on the throne, I will not allow anyone to take what is mine and threaten me with it.” She looked Regina squarely in the eye, the green meeting the black in a silent battle of wills. 

Regina held onto the heart, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you plan to do with him?” she asked finally. “If you are keeping him alive just to spite me—“

“Why do you keep the Huntsman alive?” Emma said swiftly. “You can crush his heart at any time, gods know he gives you reason enough. And yet, he lives.”

“Ahh….” A mocking smile slowly spread on Regina’s face. “You mean for him to be your _pet.”_

Emma didn't say anything; she lifted her hand a little higher, avoiding Baelfire’s gaze. Regina gave a little shrug, as though she didn't think much of Emma’s taste.

“Fine,” she said, dropping the heart so carelessly, Emma had to duck to catch it before it hit the floor. “Do with him what you will.”

Emma slowly raised her eyes, knowing that Regina was far angrier at her defiance that she was letting on. She wouldn't say anything: she would smile at her humorlessly for days, shrugging off her apologies and pleas for forgiveness. She would wait until Emma threw herself on her knees, sobbing as the guilt overpowered her; begging her to love her again.

Well, she was going to have a long wait, Emma decided as Regina swept out of the cell without a second glance. She wasn't going to feel guilty for this: not for saving a man’s life when he didn't deserve to die in the first place. 

She looked down at the heart in her hand: it had come so close to becoming dust; and she knew that if she put it back in his chest where it belonged, it surely would be. Regina would rip it out without a second thought, and crush it front of her, force her to watch him die. She would slowly shake the dust from her hands, and turn to her with a grim, but satisfied expression. “ _Sometimes, it is necessary to be cruel and ruthless,_ ” she would tell her; and Emma would stare wordlessly at her, wondering if she was talking about Emma or Baelfire. 

“Are you all right?”

Emma turned around, looking at Baelfire incredulously. “Am I all right?” she scoffed. “I just saved _your_ life, and you’re asking me if _I’m_ all right? You’re the one who nearly died.”

“And I didn’t, thanks to you,” he said, slowly rising to a stand. “I live, because you had the courage to defy your mother.”

“You live, because I will not be a murderous queen,” Emma amended carefully. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Baelfire smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

Emma nodded, looking away from him. “Come on,” she said, bending down to pick up the basket. “There’s no point keeping you in here any longer, you’re under my protection.”

“Where am I going?” he asked, following her out of the cell. 

“Not sure,” she admitted. “I didn't really think this through, it was more of a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“How very queenly.”

Emma frowned, hearing the smile in his voice. “You’re mocking me,” she accused, her voice echoing in the small tunnel as they climbed the stairs. “After I just saved your life, you have the gall to mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Baelfire said gently. “But a queen relies on strategy to make her decisions and, forgive me for saying this, but the strategic decision would have been to please Regina and crush my heart.” He paused as they passed the guard at the top of the stairs, who eyed them curiously. Emma gave him a disparaging glance so reminiscent of Regina, he staggered back, dropping his eyes and muttering apologies.

“You were saying?” Emma said, looking at him over her shoulder with a small triumphant smile. 

“I was saying, you’ll be a great queen,” he said, unfazed. “I have seen many royals topple from their thrones by the hands of their own people, because they were too concerned with their own greed and reputation. Loyalty is earned through mercy; and a queen who is not afraid to be merciful is a great one, indeed.”

Emma kept her face carefully neutral as she turned around to look at him. “I will not be queen for many years,” she said, her voice low. “I may change. I may become as ruthless and cold-hearted as any other royal. I may turn merciless and cruel.”

“You may,” Baelfire said quietly. “But I pray you don’t. The girl you are now is wiser than any king I’ve ever met. And I have met my share of kings, believe me.”

Emma looked at him, struggling to suppress the mysteriously elated feeling in her chest.“We shouldn't be talking here,” she said, keeping her voice determinedly flat. “And don’t speak to me with such candor, you are still beneath me.”

“Yes, milady,” he said as she turned back around, his reverent tone laced with amusement. 

“And don’t say ‘Yes, milady’ like that, or I will think you are mocking me again.”

“Yes, milady.”

“And don’t speak unless spoken to. I don’t tolerate impudence from any of my servants, and the same goes for you.”

“ _Yes, milady._ ”

She kept up a stream of muttered instructions, all the way up to her rooms: don’t try to steal anything, don’t provoke Regina, don’t try to run away in the middle of the night.

She stopped at the door of her rooms, and turned around. “And don’t tell me I will be a great queen,” she said, her hand tightening around the handle. “Don’t tell me I am good and kind and sweet.”

Baelfire frowned slightly, the amusement fading from his eyes.

“I am a sorceress,” Emma said, her voice like cold steel. “I can be as treacherous and cunning as Regina, and you will not see it because you think me gentle. Don’t be fooled, don’t forget what I am.”

“And why should I not tell you that you will be a great queen?” he asked, taking a step closer. Emma immediately stepped back, her heart hammering in chest. 

“Just don’t,” she said, hating how breathless her voice sounded. “Don’t say anything like that to me.”

“Why not?” 

Emma closed her eyes, opening the door to avoid answering the question. “You can sleep in the parlor for now,” she said. “I’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”

“Yes, milady.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It was originally one of my ladies’ rooms, but she was dismissed a few months ago after finding herself in a…delicate position.”

“One of the stable boys?” Baelfire guessed, a mischievous glint in his eye. Emma concentrated on not smiling, and continued walking around the room.

“I think it best if you stay in here,” she said, placing her hands behind her back. “Regina would not take kindly to seeing you freely walk around the castle.”

“So from one prison to another, then, eh?” he muttered, looking around. 

“It’s this, or the dungeons,” Emma said lightly. “Or death. Does that put things in perspective for you?”

“Fair point.”

Emma had stayed up half the night, trying to figure out what to make of the mess she had created for herself. She had essentially sacrificed all of Regina’s good graces for the likes of a raggedy pirate, and now she hadn't the slightest idea what to do with him—the most she could come up with was finding a small sanctuary for him in her rooms. He was rather like that stray bird with the broken wing she’d found when she was a child, the one that she’d studied until the last breath of life shuddered out of it little lungs. 

Except she didn't want to let this one die.

“So…what, I just stay in here all day?” he asked, drifting over to the window. “Listen to the birds, enjoy the scenery?”

“It’s safer.” Emma slowly followed him to the window, eyeing him curiously. “And for some reason, that bothers you.”

Baelfire inhaled, his eyes on the distant sea. “I’m not used to being protected,” he said. “I’m used to fighting for myself, not owing my life to anyone but me. “

“To be fair,” Emma said softly, “it’s difficult to protect yourself when your heart’s been ripped out of your chest.”

Baelfire turned to her, a desperate look in his eyes. “Give it back,” he whispered. “Please, just give it back, let me go. I can’t be chained up here any longer, I’m going _mad._ ”

“I can’t. Regina will find out, and she’ll kill you.”

“No!” Baelfire insisted. “My ship can outrun any vessel in the world, I can get away before she has the chance!” 

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, and she truly was. “I can’t, it’s too dangerous. I’d be risking my own safety, _and_ yours.”

“Come with me, then,” he said, coming closer. “You can come with me, you can get away from all this, leave it all behind.”

“I don’t want to leave it behind,” Emma said, instinctively stepping back. “Th-this is my home, and Regina’s my mother. I can’t just leave.” She shook her head. “She’d kill us before we even left the castle. Kill you, I mean.” _She’d kill_ you _before_ you _even left the castle. Not us. You._

“Don’t you want to see something beyond these four walls?” Baelfire said frustratedly. “You’re as much as prisoner as I am. And with your magic, Regina’s no match for—“

“I will _not_ use magic against her!” Emma flared. “And how dare you even suggest it!”

Baelfire’s eyes instinctively darted to her hand, as if expecting to see it crushing his heart. “I’m sorry,” he said in a much different tone. Emma lifted her chin, keeping her narrowed eyes on him.

“I shall forget you said that,” she said coldly. “For if I remembered, I might have to take your head.”

Baelfire’s brow twitched, as if he didn't quite believe her. “Would you really, though?” he asked.“After going through all the trouble to save my heart, you would take my head?”

“Well, you don’t seem to be using it much,” Emma said. “Might as well.”

She turned away before he had a chance to answer, glancing over her shoulder at the door: he was already turning back to the window, but Emma could swear she saw the corner of a smile on his face. 

She concentrated on keeping her face and mind blank as she walked down the hall, keeping her eyes down. Baelfire’s words kept threatening the borders of her minds, his dangerous words: the thought of living beyond the stones of this castle, away from Regina’s critical eyes, was dangerously tempting—far more tempting than she dared to admit to herself. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Emma nodded to the guards as they pushed the doors that opened to Regina’s office, and walked inside. Her eyes fell on Regina standing by the window,, as the guards closed the doors behind her.

“Mother.” Emma took a few cautious steps toward her. “Mother—”

“I heard you, Emma.” Her voice was flat and distant, her eyes cold and black as they gazed out at the distant sea. Emma remembered Baelfire staring at the same sea that morning; though where his eyes had been full of longing, Regina’s were predatory and hawklike. 

Emma took a few more steps, summoning her courage. “I know you’re angry with me,” she said carefully. “And I know—“

“Midas’s ship arrives in a fortnight,” Regina said, her voice cutting through Emma’s like a steel blade. “To negotiate an alliance to destroy Arthur.” She turned to Emma, shifting her cold gaze to Emma’s wary one. “An alliance we will one day use to make you queen.”

Emma nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said, not quite seeing what she was getting at. 

Regina walked toward her, her steps deliberate, her gaze unwavering. “I remember you demonstrating some of your… _queenly_ behavior recently. Something about a heart, wasn't it?”

“You _are_ angry with me,” Emma said grimly. “Because I refused to crush Baelfire’s heart, you’re angry with me.”

“No,” Regina said, raising her eyebrows coolly. “I’m not angry, Emma. I’m proud of you. It takes a lot of courage to defy your mother and teacher, the woman who has fed and sheltered you your entire life, the woman you owe your entire existence and loyalty to…in the name of defending your throne.”

Emma tensed: the words were praiseworthy, but layered with derision and scorn. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“It was a matter of principle. You needed to demonstrate your power and authority, completely disregarding your emotions and personal attachments. And for that, I commend you. I may have been angry at the time, but I understand your reasoning now.”

Emma didn't say anything; she continued to watch Regina warily, her eyes following her as she carelessly brushed through a few papers. 

“I hope that you continue to act in your own interests, for the ultimate goal,” Regina went on. “Power is nothing without ambition.”

Emma nodded silently.

“So…” Regina trailed a finger along the table. “When Midas comes, and you have a pirate hidden away in your rooms hellbent on killing our potentially greatest ally, what will you do?” She looked up at Emma, arching an eyebrow. “Think carefully. For if he lives, he will go after Midas. And if you let him go, he will turn around and come for Midas. Either way, Midas will mistrust us, and all our plans will be destroyed. Everything you’ve done in the name of defending your throne will be for naught.”

Emma took a step back, her heart clutching in her chest as Regina’s words swarmed her mind, echoing from all corners. Blood pounded in her ears as realization seeped in: she was trapped. 

“What will you do, Emma?” Regina asked, stepping toward her menacingly. “Can you find a way out of this?”

“Why do you want him dead?” Emma whispered, looking at her fearfully. “He’s done nothing to you, why are you so intent on killing him?”

“Why are you so intent on saving him?” Regina shot back. “What do you have to gain from this?”

“I—“

“Nothing! There is nothing to gain from this, Emma! So why would you insist on keeping him alive when there is nothing to gain from it, nothing to help you in the greater scheme?” Regina slammed her hand on the table. “Why, Emma? Why?”

“I don’t know!” she cried, backing away from Regina’s harsh words. “I don’t know, j-just stop screaming!”

“Stop acting like a child!”

Emma clenched her fists, feeling her magic rise within her, threatening to explode. “I’m not _acting like a child!”_ she shouted back. “And I won’t kill him just because my _mother_ tells me to!”

Regina glared at her venomously. “Then you better be prepared to use that heart, and force him not to lay a finger on Midas. Because if he does—“ Regina took a few more steps, closing the distance between them—“I will kill both of you.”

Emma glowered back. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Emma closed her eyes, tears leaking out as Regina’s grip tightened around her wrist._

_“Crush it!”  she hissed. “Crush his heart! He’s not worth it!”_

_“Mother, please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”_

_Regina’s hand closed over hers, forcing her to squeeze the heart; Emma’s eyes flew open as Baelfire let out a cry of pain, falling to his knees and holding his chest._

_“Stop!” she cried, trying to rip her hand out of Regina’s grasp. “You’re killing him, stop it!”_

_Regina’s eyes flashed dangerously; Emma screamed as Regina’s fist tightened and Baelfire made a horrible choking sound—_

“No!”

Emma sat bolt upright, her eyes wide, gasping for breath. Her heart hammered frantically in her chest; she placed a hand over it, trying to steady it as her gaze darted across the room. The dream was still fresh in her mind: she could still feel her hand grasping the heart, still hear her voice screaming over Regina’s snarls, still see Baelfire collapsing to the ground.

She was seized by the sudden need to check on him, to reassure herself that he was still alive, still breathing soundly in his tiny quarters. Her legs trembled as she lifted them out of the bed and padded out of the room.

It was the same dream she’d had for the past week, ever since Regina’s ominous “advice”.  It plagued her mind during the day: she wandered around in a daze, barely aware of her surroundings as fear overtook her thoughts; during the night, the fears came to life and forced her to watch Baelfire die by her own hand again and again. Whether that had been Regina’s intention or not, Emma was sure she would have been satisfied to know what it was doing to her.

Midas would arrive in a matter of days, and Emma had yet to make a decision on how to handle it: the straightforward, reasonable thing to do would have been to simply take Baelfire’s heart in her hand and whisper the necessary orders. Then Midas would negotiate with Regina, Baelfire would stay out of sight, and all would be well.

But every time she reached for the little box, something stopped her. And sometimes, when it was very quiet and no one else was awake, she thought she knew what it was…

If she used his own heart against him to deny him of avenging his sister, Baelfire would loathe her. He would declare her nothing more than a cruel, unfeeling sorceress, no better than Midas or Regina. He wouldn't look at her the way he did now, with something close to affection, or at the very least, regard in his eyes; his gaze would be cold and full of contempt, just as it had been the day she’d ripped the heart from his chest. 

Emma forced the thought from her mind, and brushed her hand against the door to open it just enough to glance inside. Her eyes swept over the room, looking for the familiar tufts of black hair—

She frowned, stepping further into the room. “Baelfire?” she whispered. “Baelfire, where are you?”

She was across the room in two strides, ripping the blanket off the mattress. Nothing. She stood there, clutching the blanket in her hands, as she looked around the room. Where was he?

 _Don’t panic,_ she told herself, closing her eyes. She stood very still, hardly even breathing, her ears pricked out for the slightest sound. She waited…waited…

A small scraping sound—

Emma’s eyes flew open. _Found you._

She lifted the hem of her nightdress off the ground to keep from tripping as she moved quickly on tiptoe, her ears still listening in the direction of the scraping sound. _There!_ the touch of a boot against wood— _closer!_ a small creak in a floor pane— she peered around the corner… _There you are._

He was bent over, one knee resting on the cold stone floor, while his hand roamed the shelf before him, fingers moving deftly like the thief’s-fingers they were. Emma walked slowly into the room, her eyes narrowing at his furtive movements. 

“Baelfire.”

He jumped, and whirled around, his eyes wide. “Milady,” he breathed, sounding very nervous indeed. “I-I’m sorry if I woke you…”

Emma’s eyebrows rose, and she began walking toward him deliberately; she didn't speak until she had sunk to her knees, eye-level with him. “What are you looking for?” she asked, her voice soft and dangerous. “Do tell me—perhaps I could assist you?”

“I was…” Baelfire swallowed. “Forgive me, milady. I-I was looking for my—“

“Heart,” Emma realized. “You were looking for your heart.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at her intently. “I just thought—“

Her hand shot out, gripping his wrist. “You _fool!_ Do you realize what you could have done?”

“I—“

“Regina will _kill_ you, do you understand?” Emma hissed. “You think that you can escape her, but wits and cleverness are _nothing_ against her magic! And you seem to be lacking in those, as well, for you didn't even realize that she would immediately blame me, and _I_ would be the one getting my head lopped off! After all I’ve tried to do for you, you would betray me like this?” 

She meant to sound disdainful and haughty, but the last sentence came out in a broken, hurt little voice that she hated; even more so when Baelfire looked at her sadly, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words to do it.

She dropped his wrist and rose to her feet. “Don’t go looking for your heart again,” she said in a harder tone. “You will not find it, I promise you that. I have had to protect from Regina for a long time; and if I must, I will protect it from you, too.” She shook her head regretfully. “Don’t force me to use it against you.”

“What does that mean?” Baelfire asked desperately, rising to his feet. “Use it against me? How? Why?”

Emma looked at the ground, remaining silent.

“If I can’t escape from this blasted tower, can’t you at least tell me why?” he pleaded. “Being trapped is bad enough, but not knowing the reason—is this a new brand of torture you’ve cooked up for me?”

It was a weak attempt at humor, his smile fading before it had even formed; but he looked at her with such desperation, she felt her heart break for him. To be trapped in a single room, with your heart at the mercy of another, not knowing anything…like being a blind man on the battled field, with nought but a broken sword to defend himself.

“Midas is coming.”

The words left her mouth before she was even aware of them. Baelfire stepped back, his eyes wide and glowing with hatred; the blood had drained from his face, turning him from a handsome young man to a ghoulish spirit.

“ _Midas?_ ” he whispered, his voice thick with loathing. “He is coming _here?_ ”

“And you cannot go near him,” Emma said immediately. “Regina has threatened both your life and mine, if you come between their alliance. She means to help him finish off Camelot and bring Arthur to his knees, so Midas can take his throne. And then one day, we will call on Midas to win us _our_ throne, so we no longer have to live in fear. Don't you see?” she said, suddenly desperate that he understand. “People like me—women, magick-folk—we won’t have to be afraid anymore! This is our chance! You cannot go after him, or you will ruin it!”

“He killed my sister,” Baelfire hissed. “He took all I had! And you want me to spare his life?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “Can you truly be so selfish as to deny an entire people the chance to live freely, for your own revenge?”

She didn't add that even if he _could_ be that selfish, she could force him not to be. He knew: he was very much aware of how much power this little slip of a girl held over him, regardless of how reluctantly she did so. 

“I’m never going to get it back, am I?” he said quietly. “My heart. There will always be the possibility that I will go after Midas, and you can’t afford that. You will keep it from me for the rest of my miserable life, locked away in some secret drawer sealed by magic, and I will be trapped in that room, counting the days until my breath stops.” 

Emma stepped back as he dropped to his knees, spreading his arms out in a gesture of vulnerability. 

“Just do it,” he whispered. “I can’t live like this; I may as well not live at all. Kill me, Emma. Just kill me, I can’t bear it anymore.”

Emma blinked rapidly. He was making it so easy: he was asking her to do exactly what Regina was demanding she do. Both parties were in full agreement, urging her to take action and crush the heart that had unraveled so much. It was such a simple solution.

In a flash of movement, her hand cracked across his face; he stumbled back, scrabbling at the red hand-print she’d left, staring at her in shock. Emma grabbed a fistful of his tunic, bringing him close to growl in his face, _“_ Don’t you _ever_ ask me to do that again.”

She released him, shoving him back to the floor. Baelfire stared up at her with wide eyes, which followed her as she stalked out of the room, leaving him behind.

She couldn't watch him die. The despair she felt at the very thought of it frightened her, and she wasn't quite sure what had borne it, but she was certain of one thing: _she absolutely could not watch him die._


	9. Chapter 9

Her hands shook slightly as she drew out the little box and held it between her fingertips. She could feel it vibrate with the heart’s beating, each pulse a guilty reminder. She had ripped it out like it was nothing; and treated him like he was nothing, whispering into it, hissing instructions. With every word, she stole another little piece of his soul. He was powerless now, slave to her every whim: it haunted her, _but the feeling…_

She lifted the lid, touching her fingers softly to the tough, blackened heart. It looked sickly, poisoned, full of resentment and hatred…How much of that had been her doing? She gazed at the wretched little thing, feeling a wave of nausea as it beat, scattering the shadows briefly before they settled back. Would it be more merciful to crush it and let him die, than force him to live with only this sickly little heart tethering him to life? Perhaps she could…

_No._

Regina slammed the lid down, and quickly shoved the box back in its place. She couldn't do it. There were times when she looked at the Huntsman, and he reminded her so vividly of Daniel— _she couldn't_ _watch him die again, not again._ She had barely survived the first time.

He had become her weakness. The part of her heart that still beat for Daniel protected him, even when his existence threatened hers. And now, her daughter—her strong, skillful, beautiful Emma—was walking herself down the same path. That pirate had already started to infect her heart, and if she wasn't careful—

“Your Majesty!”

Regina whirled around, full of proper queenly rage. “How dare you barge in here!” she hissed at the guard, coming threateningly toward him.

“Forgive me, my Lady—“ the soldier dropped to a knee, bowing his head—“but King Midas’s sails have been sighted on the horizon.”

Regina stopped, instantly turning her head toward the window: she could _just_ make out the vaguest outline of sails floating on the shimmering green sea. _Midas._

“Get up,” she said, not tearing her eyes away from the window. “Fetch my daughter to me, I need to speak with her.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

 

* * *

 

Emma trailed her fingers over the lid of the box, feeling her own heart thud in her throat as Baelfire’s beat against the wood. Slowly, she opened the box to look at the shadowed heart inside. So vulnerable… and yet this was the heart of a pirate: a man who killed and thieved, who indulged in every lascivious pleasure, who did as his selfishness dictated.

But it was also the heart of a man haunted by his sister’s murder: a broken heart, starved of love or warmth, thirsting for vengeance as it clung to the last memories of his sister. It was the heart of a man who had no reason to live, therefore nothing to lose. Dangerous, wild, unpredictable…but if grasped in her hand, he could be forced to be meek and docile.

It was a wonder: fascinating and sickening, keeping a man’s heart outside of his body. But, she reconciled to herself, it was safer here, hidden away in her chambers. Was it selfish of her to keep him alive? He didn't want to be, he’d told her so himself. But she had refused, knowing that the second his heart was crushed, hers would break—

“My God.”

Emma froze at the sound Baelfire’s boots against the floor, and she snapped the lid shut, bracing her hand protectively around it. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“My heart.” Baelfire’s feet stopped just behind her. “It’s…” He seemed to sway on his feet; then, dropped to his knees, gazing helplessly at the little box. “My heart,” he repeated numbly.

She turned, preparing to admonish him for walking in here so boldly and then send him away; but then she made the mistake of looking at him, seeing the desperation and strain in his face, the exhaustion in his eyes…For a brief moment, she imagined what it would be like to have her heart clutched within another’s hand, serving their idle fancies, never quite certain whether or not it would be crushed before the day was out. She wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

“I wish I could give it to you.”

The words had just tumbled from her throat. Baelfire was as surprised as Emma: he glanced at her quickly.

“You do?”

Emma hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

Baelfire was silent for a moment. “That day you found me…” His voice was hesitant, cracking under the effort of keeping it low. “I asked you to kill me.”

Emma closed her eyes, forcing away the image of a lifeless Baelfire lying at her feet.

“You refused.” He didn't need to say the rest: they both remembered the way she’d grabbed his tunic and hissed at him; the desperation and fury in her voice, the fear overtaking it all.

“I did.”

Baelfire seemed to pick over his next words. “Have you ever…used it?” he asked quietly. “Without me knowing of it?”

Emma looked at him, shaking her head slightly. “No.”

“You’ve never made me—“ Baelfire stopped himself. “You’ve never put thoughts in my head?” “No, I…” Emma frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Baelfire’s eyes flickered between hers. “Nothing,” he said, and shook his head. “Forgive me, milady, I only came in here to tell you—“ he rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up—“I saw ship sails on the horizon. I can’t make out the flag, but I assume it’s…Midas.”

The name alone was enough to bring about the disturbing transformation from a handsome face to a demonic one, the bloodthirst glowing in his eyes.

“I came to tell you because—“ Baelfire clenched his jaw—“I think you need to keep my heart close by. I don’t know that I can control myself if I see him within reach.”

Emma held the box a little closer to her chest, and nodded. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that Baelfire was sacrificing the chance to avenge his sister, possibly for her sake; but before the thought could complete itself, there was a knock at her door, and one of her ladies hurried in.

“Milady, I’m sorry—“ she bobbed a quick curtsy, her eyes only briefly darting to Baelfire before back to Emma—“but your mother has called for you. It’s important.”

Emma shifted the box in her hands. “Give me a minute,” she said, looking between the two of them. “I’ll be right there.”

* * *

“Emma.”

Emma clasped her hands behind her back, keeping her eyes down respectfully. “You sent for me,” she said in a low voice. They had barely spoken at all in over a week, other than a diplomatic “Good morning” and “Good night” every day; the last real words Regina had said to her had been a death threat.

“I am preparing a feast to welcome Midas.” Regina looked away from the window, and started walking toward her. “I expect you in the great hall tonight, to present yourself to our guests.”

“Yes, Mother,” Emma said expressionlessly.

“I hope you have taken the necessary precautions,” Regina said, her words heavy with meaning. Emma inhaled deeply, trying to steady the rise of her temper: she knew exactly what Regina was referring to, and it infuriated her. But this was a delicate situation: it must be handled the same way any queen worth her salt would handle a dangerous foe.

“You needn't worry,” she said evenly. “Your negotiations with Midas will go on without disruption.”

Regina narrowed her eyes. “Elaborate on that for me.”

“Baelfire understands he is not to go near Midas,” Emma said through clenched teeth. “That was the agreement.”

“He _understands?_ ” Regina let out a derisive laugh. “And tell me, is this an understanding you have trusted him to arrive at on his own?”

 _Or did I whisper to his heart, the way you forced me to interrogate him, like the evil sorceress he thought I was?_ Emma glowered at her. “Is my word not enough?” she said, nearly growling. “Or does it frighten you more that I trust myself more than you right now?”

“You do not trust me?” Regina’s eyebrows rose. “Because I give you advice?”

“Because you give me _threats,”_ Emma hissed. “You threaten my life if I do not blindly follow your orders, if I do not allow you to control my every thought and deed. So, no, Mother—I do not trust you.”

“I am not your _enemy_ , Emma,” Regina said, a note of desperation in her voice. “All I have ever done has been for your benefit! You don't understand! You think yourself brave, but you are allowing your head  to be filled with silly, romantic notions of justice and morality that have no place in this world!”

She reached out, as if to embrace her; Emma stepped back immediately. Regina slowly lowered her hands, looking at her in a mixture of sadness and impatience.

“Emma,” she said, taking on a much softer tone. “I understand. More than you know, I understand. But feelings are temporary—“

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” Emma said disdainfully.

“—and I’m only trying to look out for you before you get in too deep,” Regina sad, as if she hadn't spoken. “You think your justifications behind your actions are rational, but they are based on _emotions._ Your mind and heart are too closely tied right now, you can’t think properly. If you could, you would see that everything I’ve been telling you to do is for the best.”

“Murder and slavery are for the best?” Emma said disbelievingly.

“Yes.” Regina stepped toward her, her eyes full of regret. “And if you can’t understand that, I have to show you.”

Without warning, her hand shot out and plunged into Emma’s chest. Emma gasped as Regina’s fingers closed around her heart, and _pulled._ There was a dull ache that seemed to burrow its way through to her bones, spreading until her head throbbed in excruciating pain. A scream tore itself out of her throat as Regina’s hand ripped back, now clutching a red, pulsing heart.

Emma stared at it with wide, horrorstruck eyes: it beat frantically, making her stomach lurch. But the most terrifying thing of all was the emptiness inside of her: she felt both weightless and trapped, threatening to float away into nothingness if not for the innocent, red anchor in her mother’s hand.

“The heart confuses the mind, my dear,” Regina said, watching her intently. “It lives in such fear of being broken, it makes you do senseless things. You cannot think and feel at the same time without one being tainted.”

Emma couldn't tear her eyes away from her heart, but Regina’s words sank into her mind, repeating themselves over and over. A wave of realization descended over her as her childhood memories stirred: an unaffectionate, but attentive mother…no time for love, but time for care…reminding her that love was weakness…What kind of mother could say that to a child, but a heartless one?

“Don’t you see, Emma?” Regina said desperately. “Your heart can’t be broken, if you can’t feel anything. I’m protecting you.”

Emma slowly raised her eyes to Regina’s, glaring at her through her tears. “Is that why you ripped out your own, Mother?” she croaked. “To protect yourself?”

Regina looked at her, her eyes shining. “It was for _you,_ ” she whispered. “I love you too much for your own good. I needed to raise you with your best interests in mind, and I couldn't do that when my head was ruled by my heart.”

“You don’t love me,” Emma spat. “How can you? You haven't got a _heart._ And you’ve just ripped out mine! _”_

“Emma, even without my heart, I _do_ love you,” Regina said pleadingly. “There are feelings so strong that they exist, even without a heart to hold them. And a mother’s love is the strongest of all.” Her hand reached out to stroke her hair, but Emma jerked away.

“Prove it, then,” she hissed. “Give it back to me.”

Regina hesitated. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did,” she said. “Emma, I’m not doing this to torture you or punish you. I-I’m trying to show you…”

“If you truly love me as much as you say you do,” Emma said, her voice trembling with rage, “then give it back.”

“I will,” Regina promised. “But I want you to understand first. Just—just forget your anger with me for a moment, and think. Think without the distractions of your feelings, and understand why I’m doing this.”

“No.” Emma shook her head. The emptiness frightened her: it was unnatural, inhuman. It made Regina capable of being what she was.

“Emma,” Regina said, holding her heart a little higher. “I don’t want to, but I _can_ force you.” She looked at her regretfully. “Don’t make me do this.”

Emma held back a sob as Regina tightened her grip. “How can I think when you—?” She choked, falling to her knees as her grip tightened further.

“Stop resisting!” Regina pleaded. “I don’t want to do this to you, but you _have_ to understand! Just think, just for a minute! Stop being afraid of what you might realize!”

Emma looked up, Regina’s image blurry through her tears. “If I do as you ask, will you return it to me?” she coughed. It was unbearable, undoubtedly the worst moment of her entire life. Hell could rise through the earth and swallow her, and she would barely notice. The pain, the fear, the utter vulnerability… “Please.”

“Yes, of course.”

Emma released her breath as Regina’s hand loosened, slowly pushing herself to a seat. She closed her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears that pushed against them. It was the strangest thing: it was as if she _knew_ she should be feeling frightened and angry and betrayed right now, but when she let her thoughts settle, she realized…yes, those feelings were there, but they weren't important right now. They were in the back of her mind, pushed off to the side in favor of more important things.

Baelfire’s image appeared, and her mind instantly decoded him: she was aware that she felt a curious affection for him, that there was a part of her that despaired at the thought of his death… He was still alive, for that reason alone.

Because, now that she thought about it, he was a complete risk to everything. He could kill Midas, he could run back to Arthur—the only place he was really safe was holed up in Emma’s room, like a little pet. But even that wasn't safe: the more time he spent there, the more chance he had to turn Emma’s head, distract her from the task at hand.

Logic championed his death; and what championed his life? Nothing that that was inside her now. Regina must have seen something in her face, for she let out a sigh of relief. “There, you see?” she

said, sinking to her knees in front of her. “You understand now?”

Emma slowly opened her eyes. She understood far more than she’d wanted to. Baelfire’s life seemed less important by the second, and that small part inside of her was beating her fists and screaming. She feared what she might be capable of if Regina did not return her heart, her voice of unreason.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice strained and breathless. “Now, Mother, I beg you…give it back.”

Regina smiled, and she said something about a moment of clarity and putting it to use, but Emma wasn't listening: her eyes were fixed on her heart, still grasped in Regina’s hand—right until the point Regina pushed it back in her chest, the force slamming against her bones and stealing her breath.

Emma drew in gasping breaths, as her mind flooded with emotions and thoughts that had been silent for those few horrible moments. They overwhelmed her, spilling out over the edges: fear, anger, betrayal, desperation, it all came crashing down at once, rocking her back.

And Baelfire…

Emma shut her eyes tightly against her tears, suddenly wishing her heart wasn't in her chest. Now it was free to break—and it was. Because nothing could undo knowledge and understanding: it was too clear to ignore how much of a threat Baelfire posed while he still lived\\. There was no getting around it. She had scolded him for being so selfish as to put his revenge over the chance for an entire people—for _her_ people—to live in a free world; to think she had almost done the same, for her own feelings…

Her heart broke as she realized that those heartless moments she’d endured were what Baelfire had lived for far longer…and broke further still as she realized what she must do.


	10. Chapter 10

Emma’s hands shook so violently, she nearly dropped the little box. She blinked furiously, but tears kept gathering in her eyes, threatening to overwhelm her; her throat closed over the unshed tears, stealing the air from her lungs. Trembling, she shifted the box to one hand and pushed the door open.

Baelfire was seated by the window, his glaring eyes fixed on Midas’ ship floating atop the green sea. He barely glanced up at the sound of Emma’s skirts brushing against the floor, his eyes darting away only briefly before returning to the ship.

“He’ll be here by evening,” he said darkly. “I hope the bastard drowns before then. Let the sea get him, since I can’t kill him myself.”

Emma closed her eyes, feeling a trail of tears run down her face. She’d run to her room after Regina released her, nearly tore her shelves apart to find the little box that held Baelfire’s heart, preparing to fling it open and crush the heart before she had another minute to think about what she was doing. It had to be done, she knew that, but…when she held it in her hands, felt the beat of his still-living heart… she couldn’t. Not without seeing him one more time.

But seeing him now…? _This_ was one more time. Which meant it would be the last time. “You’re crying.”

Emma opened her eyes to see Baelfire looking at her, his normally bright gaze clouded over with concern and wariness. His eyes drifted toward the box in her hands.

“And you’ve got my heart again.”

She didn't tell him not to worry this time; she didn't make any moves to reassure him. She wasn't going to lie to him. Emma took a few more shaky steps forward, nearly closing the distance between them.

“Don’t speak into it,” Baelfire said unexpectedly. His eyes were haunted, graying as he stared at the box, swallowing hard. “You can lock me up in the dungeons again if you don’t trust me against Midas, but I beg of you—don’t speak into it. The last time you did…”

Emma turned her head, feeling a fresh round of tears against her eyes.

“It was like I was possessed by a demon,” he said, almost in awe. “A demon who used my words and bound my mind…I thought some evil spirit had taken hold of me, until I realized it was but the dark magic you cast over my heart.” He shook his head, giving a shaky little laugh. “I thought you were so evil, so cold and dark…” His eyes trailed up and rested on her. “I couldn't have been more wrong.”

“Why are you saying these things?” she whispered, feeling her heart break into smaller pieces with his every word.

“And why do you cry?” he asked, getting up from his seat to kneel in front of her. “What’s happened to you?”

Emma looked at him, trembling with the effort of controlling her tears. “Regina took my heart. Only for a few moments, but…to know that I’ve inflicted this kind of suffering and torment on you for months—” she choked back a sob—“to do that to another human being is true evil. I am every bit as dark and cold as you thought, Baelfire.”

“Everyone has darkness in them, but you are not dark,” he said, looking at her intently. “You are capable of mercy and compassion, how could you think yourself dark?”

 _Because I know I am also capable of murder and betrayal._ Emma tore her eyes away from him and forced herself to lift the lid of the box. Baelfire inhaled sharply as she closed her hand around the heart and raised it. The box toppled off her lap, splintering as it hit the ground, but she barely heard it: her gaze was fixed on the heart, beating insistently.

“What are you doing?” he asked warily, shifting away from her.

“You can hardly feel anything when your heart is out of your chest,” she said. “I didn't realize until Regina ripped mine out, but I have been allowing it to make decisions for me.”

Baelfire shook his head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“How can you not understand? I should have _killed you!_ ” she cried, shaking the heart in her hand. “I should have killed you that day in the throne room, but I didn’t, I couldn't bear it! I told myself there was a logical reason for you keeping you alive, but I was _lying to myself_. I was being selfish. I couldn't bring myself to watch you die.”

Emma looked at him, her voice trembling as she tried to force her hand closed. “But now I must,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Baelfire.”

“Wait.”

His eyes were fixed on the heart, almost trancelike. “Just for a moment,” he breathed. “Give it back to me for a moment. I don’t want to die without knowing…”

Emma shook her head helplessly. “I can’t,” she said, her voice breaking. “You could run, try to escape, and then—”

“Grant a dying man’s wish.” Baelfire tore his eyes away to look at her. “Emma, please…”

 _I can’t,_ she wanted to tell him, but the words died in her throat. She still felt the horror of seeing her heart gripped in Regina’s hand: her few moments spent in Hell made it impossible for her to deny Baelfire a final moment of peace.

“Just for a moment.”

Baelfire flickered a smile at her, which faded almost instantly. Emma shut her eyes, bracing herself, and in one fluid motion, pushed the heart into his chest. Her eyes flew open as he let out a gasp; he put his hand to his chest.

“Baelfire?”

He lifted his head, looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Emma…” he breathed. Emma’s eyes darted between his. It was as if he’d been transformed, something resurrected behind his dead gaze. There was _life_ in his eyes, a soul visible inside them.

“You’re different,” he said softly, ghosting his fingers along the edge of her face. “Or maybe I am. I’m not quite sure.”

Emma closed her eyes, feeling his hand cup the side of her face; he moved closer, his breath tickling her lips, only just brushing the air between them…

“No,” she said, opening her eyes and breaking the spell. “You have to leave.”

“What?”

Emma shook her head, pulling him to a stand. “You have to leave, it’s not safe for anyone if you stay here a day longer.”

“I don’t understand—”

“I will arrange for a ship to leave tonight, bound for a port far from here. I can give you money and provide you with safe passage, but it has to be tonight.” Emma strode across the room, flinging open the wardrobe to pull out the clothes. “Midas will ask Regina to send me away before they start any sort of discussions. You need to be ready to leave: we won’t have much time to sneak past her guards, but I think we can manage if you follow closely and don’t ask questions.”

“But what about Regina?” Baelfire walked toward her, looking confused. “If she finds me gone, she’ll kill you. You said so yourself—“

“Baelfire,” Emma said desperately. “ _I_ will worry about Regina. All you need worry about is getting out of here without being seen.”

Baelfire frowned. “I’m not going to leave you to deal with her on your own. I’ve seen what that woman can do.”

“And I can _do_ what that woman can do,” Emma insisted. “And if you don’t leave, she’ll either rip out your heart in front of me and force me to watch you die, or rip out mine and make me do it myself. Don’t you see? Either way, you die, and I can’t let that happen!”

“Then come with me. Emma—” he said over her protests, taking her hand. “ _Come with me.”_

“No, I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to be here. I-I’ll think of something to tell Regina, just make sure you’re ready by the time I get back.” She slid her hand out of his to walk past him. “I have to go, I need to think about how to do this.”

“Wait—” Baelfire caught her arm, turning her around. “Emma—”

“What?” she said exasperatedly. “You’re wasting time, what _is_ it?”

He pulled her a little closer. “I don't want you to put yourself in danger for me. It’s not worth it. I’ve cheated death too many times, I don’t want you risking it on my behalf.”

Emma snatched her arm back. “It is _my_ life,” she told him. “It is mine to risk or not risk, as I see fit.”

“As is mine. Just—I don’t know, return me to cell or something, whatever will sate Regina. But don’tgive her a reason to hurt you.”

Emma didn't answer; she turned away and strode out the door, her mind racing as much as her heart.

* * *

 

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mother.”

“You look miserable.”

Emma lifted the corners of her mouth, just as the the doors burst open and Midas swept in, followed by a train of his officers and councilmen. He was tall, with the rounded chest of a man who had been muscular in his youth, and golden curls framing a lion-like face. Shrewd eyes flicked lazily around the room as he strode in, his elaborate cape billowing behind him.

Regina rose from her throne, bowing her head gracefully. “King Midas,” she said silkily. “I trust your journey went smoothly?”

“The sea was calm and the weather fair,” Midas said, flourishing a hand. “However, I am thankful to be on dry land again, and eager to fill my belly.”

Emma felt her smile sour on her lips. Midas carried himself with an air of lazy entitlement,: characteristic of all kings, she supposed, but grating nonetheless.

“How lucky we’ve prepared such a splendid feast for you,” Regina said with a wry smile, clearly mirroring Emma’s thoughts. “It’s waiting for us in the great hall. Naturally, your councilmen are welcome to join us.”

“And this lovely young creature as well, I expect?”

Midas’ eyes lingered on Emma, trailing down her form. A wave of nausea threatened in the pit of her stomach as Baelfire’s words echoed in her mind: _She was but thirteen—little more than a child, but his_ _eyes preyed on her every time she walked in the room._ Emma dropped her eyes, fighting the urge to vomit. This was the man who had raped and murdered little Gwendolyn. This was the man who had destroyed every light in Balefire’s life. This was the man who had ripped a family apart for his own selfish, loathsome desires.

“This is my daughter,” Regina said, placing a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “And yes, she will be joining us. I’m sure she’s eager to hear tales of your homeland.”

Midas laughed bitterly. “Does she find dragon infestations fascinating?” 

“I’m sure we’ll find something to talk about,” Regina replied. “Shall we?”

The long dining table in the great hall had been lavishly set, with rich smells wafting off steaming dishes: roasted meats, salt-and-peppered vegetables, freshly baked bread, and—courtesy of Midas—an exotic, vibrant fruit called “firefruit”. Apparently, it grew from apple seeds that had been scorched by dragon’s flame, as Midas explained to Emma in great detail. Emma smiled politely, taking a sip of her wine.

“How very interesting,” she said when he had finished.

“It is considered a rare delicacy by many,” Midas said, ripping another chunk of bread from a loaf. “However, once we have made our countries sisters, I’m sure you will consider it a staple, like us.”

“I look forward to it.” Emma folded her hands in her lap to conceal how much they were trembling. She was sitting here, wiling away the hour as if she hadn't a care in the world as Midas rambled on about fruit; meanwhile, Baelfire was waiting for her to lead him down to the docks and get him safely aboard the ship.

“I’m told you are quite gifted in magic,” Midas said bluntly as he pulled apart a chicken leg. “Is it true?”

“Emma has a natural talent for many things,” Regina said before Emma could open her mouth. “She is more than I ever hoped for.”

The words were kindly, but Emma couldn't help feeling unsettled: Regina’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, and there was a steely coolness to her voice that made it sound more like an insult than a compliment.

Midas rested his chin on his fist, giving her an appraising look. “I’m also told she’s very intelligent,” he said, studying her as though she were a particularly fine horse he was considering buying. “Good mind for strategy and learning.”

“Very,” Regina agreed. “In perfect health, as well.”

Emma frowned, looking toward Regina curiously at the unexpected comment. What would Midas care about her health? This wasn't a social visit.

“She’s slight,” Midas said dubiously. “Doesn’t look very strong.”

“She’s young,” Regina said, waving her hand. “Plenty of time to grow into her strength.”

“Yes, well…hopefully she doesn't need _plenty_ of time,” Midas grumbled. “A throne without heirs is an unstable throne.”

Emma choked on her wine. “I’m sorry, what?” she coughed.

“Adam’s young, too,” Regina said smoothly. “There will be more than enough time to stabilize his throne.”

“I might feel less apprehensive about it if the North wasn't such a recent acquisition,” Midas said. “But it is, and Adam needs to establish a strong family line before the nobles become restless. No one wants another cousins’ war.”

Emma looked between them quickly, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. What was all this talk of heirs and thrones? Who was Adam? Why were they sizing her up and discussing strong family lines at the same time?

“Excuse me,” she said, suddenly feeling very ill. “I’ve just been plagued with the most horrific headache.”

“Emma,” Regina said, smiling through clenched teeth. “I’m sure you don’t want to be rude to our guest.”

“Let the girl rest,” Midas said, saving Emma the trouble of thinking of an excuse. “We have far too much to discuss, anyway. Perhaps it’s best if she get out from underfoot.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Emma said quietly, bobbing him a quick curtsy.

Midas waved her away and turned back to Regina, reengaging her in their conversation. Emma walked away quickly, trembling as she caught the words “betrothal” and “blood alliance”.

Of course, it made sense, she reflected somewhere in the back of her mind as her footsteps echoed down the corridor. Midas wouldn't be satisfied with an alliance based on promises and mutual trust: such things didn't exist in politics. But an alliance through marriage, securing the fate of their kingdoms permanently…that would convince him. And Regina stood much to gain from it, too: Adam (who must have been Midas’ son) was apparently ruling his father’s most recent conquest in the North. The North was known for its rich diamond mines and exotic furs and a fortress so impenetrable, Winter was the only enemy who’d been able to invade in over two hundred years. Not only would it earn Regina another powerful ally, but any heir Emma produced with Adam would be a very influential ruler one day.

There were so many strong alliances being formed, so many conquests pooled together, so many lives and futures being built…and all depending on _her._ Regina would be able to fall back on Midas _and_ Adam to win her Misthaven…and then usher in the golden age of sorcery, but was that even her purpose anymore? She had always painted the image of Emma being at her side when she put the tip of the sword to King David’s neck and watched the dark red blood slowly trickle down; of Emma sitting beside her on the twin thrones, marveling at the thought of magic being freely practiced in their new kingdom, where women owned themselves rather than men owning them. And yet, she was prepared to sell Emma like livestock, to build this vision?

She knew, logically, it was the most reasonable and strategic thing to do; and she knew that if she didn't agree to it, it not only didn't matter, but she would also be responsible for trying to stem the rise of her people. Too long they had suffered, too long had they hidden away in shadows; too long they had been treated with suspicion and disrespect. She could not bring herself to sabotage the chance to change that.

She didn't realize it, but she had walked herself straight to Baelfire’s door. Numbly, she pushed it open, her mind still heavy with the sinking realization of what Regina and Midas were planning.

He looked away from the window at the sound of her footsteps. “I’m not leaving, you know,” he said, turning to face her. “I meant what I said earlier: I’m not leaving you to face Regina alone. You protected me from her for too long; I owe you a debt, if nothing else.”

Emma’s eyebrows rose. “No, Baelfire,” she said firmly. “You _are_ leaving. And that is how you can repay your debt, by sparing Midas’ life and leaving.”

Baelfire looked at her, horrorstruck. “But Regina—!”

“Is no longer a problem,” Emma said swiftly. “She needs me alive, she’s not going to hurt me.”

“Needs you alive?” Baelfire repeated, walking closer. “For what?”

Emma shook her head. “We don’t have time for this, Baelfire. The ship—”

“Needs you alive for what?”

Emma let out a frustrated breath. “I _told_ you, we don’t have time for this!” she hissed, grabbing his wrist and pulling him after her. “Now, come on!”

Baelfire protested, but Emma’s grip was too strong for him to do anything but hurry along after her. She led him through corridors, down staircases, through the winding and shadowy halls that seemed so sinister now that night had fallen.

“And how the blazes are you going to get me past that lot?” Baelfire demanded as they heard the clashing footsteps of the metal-armored guards. Emma turned around, pulling the hood of the cloak over his head.

“Stealth,” she whispered. “And if need be, I can get rid of them.” She flexed her fingers, and his eyes rounded with understanding. _Magic._

Like two thieves, they snuck against the wall, keeping out of sight and out of the torches’ glow. Emma kept her hand at the ready, prepared to wipe out any guard who so much as glanced at them, but they made it through smoothly and without delay.

Once they were outside, though, Baelfire stopped, ripping the hood off his head. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me why Regina needs you alive,” he said stubbornly. “If that’s even the truth.”

“It _is_ the truth,” Emma sighed. “This isn’t the time for questions, though; the ship leaves soon.”

“Then you’d better talk fast, hadn't you?”

Emma glowered at him, clenching her fists. “ _Fine,_ ” she said coldly. “Regina needs me alive because she plans to marry me to Midas’ son to secure an alliance.”

Baelfire’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

Emma didn’t answer him; she slid her gaze away and continued on the path to the ship docks. After a minute, she heard Baelfire’s boots jogging after her.

“Emma,” he said, falling into step beside her. “You can’t marry him.”

“Yes, I can. And I will.” Emma drew in a determined breath, staring ahead. “It’s for the greater good.”

“No—Emma—” Baelfire caught her arm, turning her around to face him. “You _can’t_ marry him. You know what it’s like, once a woman marries: she’s _owned_ by her husband, like a slave. Especially a royal’s wife. You can’t waste everything you are on a marriage, Midas’ son will bleed your soul dry.”

“I know what I’m doing, Baelfire,” Emma said steely. “I don’t need a man to protect me from another man.”

“I’m not—” Baelfire frustratedly shut his eyes—“ _trying to protect you.”_

“Then what is it you’re trying to do?” she challenged.

Baelfire opened his eyes, looking at her in such a way, she involuntarily took a step back: there was warmth, concern, fear, desperation, longing, tenderness…all ingredients something she was afraid she was getting to know too well.

“Baelfire,” she said waveringly, her voice having lost all its strength and anger now. “Listen to me. You’re confusing gratitude for…other feelings right now. Don’t—don’t get lost in it and start thinking in spirals. You’re simply grateful for being treated better than in the dungeons and for having your heart back. That’s all it is.”

“I don’t think so,” he said in a low voice, stepping closer.

“Yes, is _is,”_ she insisted desperately, bracing her hands against him as he came closer still. She glanced over at the port in the not-so-distant distance, the moonlight tracing the outline of the sails and the strong stern of the ship. Baelfire followed her gaze, and slowly looked back, eyeing her warily.

“Emma…”

“If you hold any sort of regard for me at all,” she whispered, her voice uneven with unspilled tears, “you will get on that ship now, and not look back.”

Without waiting for an answer, she dropped her hands and turned around, hurrying back up to the castle. She didn't look back, didn’t turn to see whether or not he’d done as she asked. She wasn't going to torture herself with one last look before he was gone, forever.

_Gone forever._

 


End file.
